Will You Come? I
by TsoLan
Summary: This is the question Clara Oswald asks several of the Doctor's friends when, in the year 2020, the thing that killed her mother starts happening again. During their travels, they all met the Other. Now the Other has emerged again, and the friends must look to their pasts in order to save the future... Featuring multiple Doctors and companions, plus a future unseen Doctor.
1. Prolouge: March 2005

_**5th March 2005**_

* * *

The harvest, which had been planned for twenty-five years, and which would not be brought to a final end for another fifteen years, began on a chilly day in early March, 2005. It all started (so far as I'm aware) with a job interview, and a woman by the name of Ellie Oswald.

Ellie was, or rather had been, the head chef at a restaurant in Mayfair. But mainly, she kept to desserts - souffles and such. But she _could_ cook more or less any meal that was requested by the clientele (and as you might imagine, an expensive restaurant in Mayfair attracted it's fair share of demanding customers). Whatever the demands, Ellie would see that they were met. As she looked back on her previous employment on the morning of March 5th, the memories were mainly of a happy, satisfying career which was brought to an end far before it's time.

The restaurant (name of Auditore Da Firenze) was owned and managed by a wealthy Italian immigrant named Giovanni Pavano. He was one of those extremely rare bosses who was adored by his employees - he was charitable with his wealth, and he treated and paid his staff perfectly well. For example, when Ellie fell pregnant with her daughter Clara eighteen years ago, he was entirely supportive, giving her all the time off she needed, and making whatever adjustments were required at work for her. Despite the fact that she'd been only a simple kitchen assistant back then.

Of course, by the time Clara Oswald was eighteen and Ellie, aged forty-four, was the head chef, it's fair to say that Giovanni loved her - as I've explained, she could do basically anything in the kitchen. She kept the customers happy, even the most ludicrous of people, who wanted their vegetables steamed at a certain heat, or their steaks fried in butter as opposed to grilled. Whatever it was, she would do it. It was thanks to her that Auditore Da Firenze had such a spectacular reputation, and he jolly well knew it. Plus, he did _love_ those souffles she made! Oh, how he loved them. Everyone did.

Ellie smiled sadly as she put her blazer on, checking her reflection in the mirror - got to look smart for a job interview! Feeling suddenly nervous, she sat back down on her bed, the bed she shared with her husband Dave. A cruel coincidence had seen him too dismissed from his job in a "restructuring" of the accountancy firm where he worked, and the only new job he'd been able to find so far was on the checkouts at a supermarket. In short, they had fallen on very hard times. Clara, aged eighteen, was a student. She had very little money, and Ellie and Dave were terrified for her - they'd always promised themselves that they'd support Clara through her degree, but the fact was that they barely had enough money for food. If Clara had to drop out of college, they'd never forgive themselves (though really, I'm sure you'll agree that it was neither of their faults). But parents feel that responsibility, don't they? And the notion that they might not be able to see her through college broke their hearts.

Ellie thought back to better times - for instance, the last time she'd spoken to Giovanni, a few hours before he was found dead in his home, aged just sixty-four, his pale, lifeless face shocked and distorted by the severe heart attack which killed him more or less instantly.

Ellie remembered watching, with immense pride, as he finished his second bowl of her souffle, wiping his mouth with a napkin and beaming.

"It _fantastico_ mia care signora! Er...how you say...sei un bravo...cooko?"

Ellie giggled - Giovanni could speak English so perfect that it could have been his first language. In the twenty years she'd worked for him, it had been a long running joke of his to pretend not to speak a word of it - and, somehow, it still made her laugh. Now, sitting on her bed for a moment before heading out to her job interview in the city, she still found herself laughing again. Though thinking of Giovanni had brought a tear to her eye.

"Why thank you, mia caro signore." Ellie beamed. "You want more?"

"No, no. Too much of a good thing, I think, eh?" He chuckled, patting his stomach. Ellie could see his point. Giovanni was a large man. Not morbidly obese, but certainly pretty large. His hair, once jet black, was flecked with grey, and his large brown eyes were misty with cataracts. On the day he died, he was a man past his prime. That made Ellie sad in itself - twenty years before, he'd been _gorgeous_! Forty-four, her current age and skinny, in the prime of his life. Everyone fancied him back then.

"I go now, si? _Vado a casa in Italia!"_ (I'm going home to Italy!).

"All right, well you have a good time," Ellie said, kissing him on the cheek, "have a nice rest."

Giovanni smiled. "Si, si. Ehh...I'm leaving Grant in charge. But he isn't so confident, so..."

Ellie nodded, "I'll make sure he's all right, boss. We'll be fine, don't worry. You've earned a break."

"Oh yes," Giovanni agreed, "yes, I rather think I have. Been lots to do, si?"

"Yeah," Ellie agreed, "go on now."

"Yes. _Grazie_ for the souffle, my dear."

"Anytime," Ellie winked.

With a smile, Giovanni bid her farewell, and went home. He was flying out to Italy for a couple of weeks that evening - he wanted a holiday, and he could spend some time with his son down in Florence.

He never got to the airport, let alone to Italy. He'd just finished packing (his suitcases were found by the door), and had been waiting for his taxi when he dropped down dead, dead before he hit the floor.

Here, Ellie stopped thinking back. She had to get a move on! What was she doing? Besides which way, the memories of after that last meeting were _not_ pleasant. Giovanni, her boss and friend of twenty-years was dead. The restaurant staggered along under Grant's leadership for a time, but the magic had died with Giovanni. Two months after his death, Auditore Da Firenze closed it's doors for the final time, leaving it's fifty-four employees, including Ellie, out of work. That had been in November of 2004, four months ago. Two weeks later, Dave Oswald had lost his job too.

But no. She wasn't going to think about that. Not today. Today was the day it all got back to normal, right? This job was _perfect_ for her, if she could only get it...she thought she could.

She _knew_ she could.

She stood up and, glancing at herself in the mirror once more, went downstairs. The Oswald's owned a nice little house, with three bedrooms and an open plan layout downstairs, with pale beige walls and wooden floorboards. Not that they were keeping up with the mortgage, of course - if things didn't improve in a couple of months, the house would be gone. But again, Ellie wasn't thinking about that today. Today was the day it all changed!

Of that, Ellie was quite correct. Oh yes. Things were going to change for the Oswald's today. But not for the better.

"Hey, mum!" Clara had been lying down on the sofa (home from university for the Easter break), "you look fab!"

"You think so?" Ellie asked. Truth be told, she knew she did - she was a beautiful woman (her daughter had gotten her own good looks from Ellie), and she was certainly dressed for the occasion. Blouse, blazer, smart trousers and flat shoes. Ellie Oswald did _not_ like high-heels.

"I know so!" Clara insisted, "give us a whirl!"

Ellie smiled and turned around on the spot.

"Yeah, you'll do." Clara assured her, "if they don't hire you, they're stupid."

"Hmm..." Ellie said, "well, fingers crossed."

"Aye," Clara agreed (she'd developed a faint Lancashire accent from going to university up north), "you'll do fine, mum. I promise."

"Yeah..." Ellie said softly. "It's a funny place. The restaurant, that is. It's like...it's like you know it's there, but you just kind of...don't."

"Eh?"

"I can't explain it. It's always been there. It's just down the road from where Auditore Da Firenze was. But when I saw the ad in the paper, I hadn't a _clue_ where the place was."

"What's the name again? The Panoptican Steakhouse, ain't it?" Clara said.

"That's the one." Ellie agreed. "When I saw it, I was like, wow, it's _that_ joint! I'd passed it for twenty-years on the way to work, but I'd never given it any thought at all...weird, huh?"

"Bit weird, yeah." Clara agreed, "and mum...do you think perhaps you should go now?"

"What?" Ellie glanced at her watch, "oh my stars! Yeah...thanks love. It's mini-kievs for dinner, that all right?"

"Sure," Clara agreed. A lot of their meals were cheap and frozen these days. When Ellie and Dave had both been earning good money, Ellie used to cook the most amazing dinners (when she wasn't working, that is). But they didn't have the money for good food right now. Hopefully that would change after today.

"All right, love. See you later."

Clara nodded. "Yeah, and mum...good luck. You'll be fine."

Ellie beamed, and Clara was embarrassed to see that she was welling up a bit. "Thanks, babe." Ellie said. "Come here."

"Really?" Clara got to her feet grudgingly and slouched over to her mum. Ellie pulled her into a tight hug. Clara was particularly short, and Ellie was particularly tall. That made Ellie strangely happy, in a weird way. Even when Clara was an adult (which she basically was now), she'd still be Ellie's little girl. She didn't dare tell Clara that. Her daughter would probably cringe to death hearing something like that.

Ellie released her daughter and looked at her pretty round face. "I love you, Clara."

"Well, you've got good taste then," Clara teased. "I love you too. Now go on! Go and show 'em what you can do!"

Ellie chuckled, "I'll try. I'll see you later."

"Bye. Love you lots."

With that, Clara flung herself back down onto the couch and her attention went back to the dreadful soap opera on the television. Ellie left, closing the front door quietly behind her. Clara Oswald never saw her mother again.

* * *

So that was how Ellie Oswald found herself, an hour later, standing outside the Panoptican Steak House, a stone's throw from the boarded up shell of her previous workplace. She looked the other way as the taxi passed it - it upset her looking at it, and today was about the future. Not the past.

So she paid the driver and, taking care not to look down the road at the old ruin, looked up at the big brick building that she hoped would be her new place of work. It was a thriving restaurant all right, and she couldn't quite understand why she'd failed to notice it for twenty years...or, indeed, why nobody at Auditore Da Firenze had ever talked about it...

But maybe they _had,_ a little voice at the back of her head told her. Maybe _you_ just can't remember...

Maybe. Maybe not. It didn't matter, did it? Because Ellie Oswald, of course, had no idea what a perception filter was, nor why one of such incredible strength was surrounding an ordinary brick building in Mayfair.

So, shrugging her shoulders, she pushed open the glass door and strolled in. The dining room was packed full of customers, and decorated in much the same way that Auditore Da Firenze had been. Pure white tablecloths, a red patterned carpet and a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Along the far wall stood a bar, where two men in suits sat, sipping champagne. The only peculiar thing that Ellie noticed was that the walls were a lurid green, decorated with strange roundels. Odd choice. The ceiling was the same. Red, white, green. It looked pleasant at a glance, but the more you looked, the less appealing it became. A bit of a mess of colours really. Shame. But that didn't matter. The place looked well-to-do. It looked posh. It looked as though the money would be decent.

 _Oh yes_ , thought Ellie. _This would do me fine._

A waiter strolled up to her, smiling broadly. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, bowing. "How may I help you?"

"Yeah...I'm here about the job in the kitchen. Oswald." Ellie smiled, feeling suddenly nervous.

"Ah, yes," the waiter exclaimed, shaking her hand enthusiastically, "yes, yes, yes! Ellie Oswald, isn't it? Right this way ma'am."

"Thanks," Ellie said, rather taken aback by the strange little man. He was shorter than her. Not as short as Clara, but still pretty short. He wore a spotless white shirt and a red waistcoat, with black trousers and gleaming shoes. He looked vaguely Chinese, and Ellie guessed that one of his parents must have been Chinese, the other European. He would have been very handsome, but for a particularly large mole that had burrowed into the side of his nose like some sort of insect. Shame really, Ellie thought. Still, he was a courteous little chap, bouncing with enthusiasm. She already liked him a little, and guessed that if she got the job, she'd get on particularly well with him.

All said, it took ten minutes to reach the manager's office. If Ellie Oswald hadn't already been so addled by the perception filter, she would have realized that the building was impossibly big.

Bigger, in fact, than it was on the outside. But like I said, the perception filter was immensely strong. Poor Ellie didn't notice a thing.

But finally, after the ten minute walk that Ellie barely noticed, the little waiter stopped in a crossroad of corridors. It was weird here, Ellie thought. The corridors were metal! The floor, the walls, the ceiling - all metal. Cold, grey metal, the lot of it. The only thing by way of decoration was the occasional scatter of circular patterns on the walls, the same kind that had been in the dining room. And...well, there were a lot of them corridors. It was getting like a maze. There hadn't been any windows for a while now. It was quite dark, the neon lights on the ceiling glowing dully yellow. It just...it just didn't seem quite right...

"Mr. Wrench's office is just down there ma'am," the waiter said right on cue, knocking Ellie's emerging doubts back out of her mind.

"Thanks," Ellie said, and shook his hand again. "Big place here, isn't it?"

The waiter's expression hardened a little. "Why no, ma'am. I don't think so. Not particularly. Good luck to you." Then, he turned on his heel and marched off down a separate corridor. Not the same one he'd brought Ellie down. Weird.

So Ellie was left alone. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the corridor to the manager's office, her heart thumping. This was it. Make or break. She needed this job, even if it was slightly...strange in here.

 _But it isn't strange,_ that little voice in her head insisted, _just focus on the interview._

She knocked on the wooden door gently, her nerves jingling.

"Come in," came a man's voice from inside the room. Make or break, Ellie. Make or break, girl. She took a deep breath and entered.

The first thing she noticed was a window - sunlight flooded in, in stark contrast to the dank and unlit web of corridors outside. That was a relief, and already she felt a little more comfortable. The office was carpeted red, like the dining room, and was cool and airy. And there, sitting behind a large mahogany desk, sat Mr. Wrench himself. He was a young man. Younger than her. Thirties maybe? Late twenties even? He was quite bald. Looking closely, Ellie could see very thin stubble on the top of his head, which suggested that he was bald by choice, and shaved his hair. He sported a little goatee, and wore a immaculate white suit.

"Good afternoon!" Ellie said enthusiastically, "I'm Ellie Oswald. Here about the kitchen job."

"The kitchen job," the man repeated silkily, not smiling. "So we're a restaurant today, I gather?"

Ellie frowned. "Sorry sir, I...don't quite know what you mean."

"No," Wrench replied sarcastically, his silky smooth voice dripping with contempt. "And you would not. Please - have a seat."

"Thanks," Ellie said, sitting down opposite Mr. Wrench. There was one thing she knew already, after only a few short seconds in his company - this man would _not_ be as pleasant to work for as Giovanni Pavano had been. Not at all. But needs must, eh?

"So...Ellie Oswald." Mr. Wrench said softly.

"That's me," Ellie said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Yes. Well I, Ellie Oswald, am Mr. Tomasz Wrench, the owner of...this restaurant. But enough of the niceties. You are here, as you say, for a job in the kitchen?"

"I am indeed," Ellie said, feeling awkward and embarrassed by the man's frosty attitude. "Mr. Wrench, is this a convenient time? I could always come back if you -"

Mr. Wrench laughed. It was a nasty, rattling sound that did nothing to improve the frosty atmosphere in the room. "Back later? But I insist...I'd like to interview you now."

"Well, thank you sir. I just wondered, you seemed a little distracted, and I -"

"No, no." Mr. Wrench interrupted Ellie for a second time. He was smiling now, but not in a pleasant way. His eyes were saying something entirely different...

"So," he continued, "tell me about yourself."

"Sure. So I'm forty-four, and I was the head chef at the restaurant just down the street. Auditore Da Firenze. It closed, of course. Perhaps you knew Mr. Pavano?"

"No."

"Oh, okay. He passed away a few months ago, and the place closed...so I'm...you know, I know what I'm doing. The place had superb reviews, and it-"

Then, Mr. Wrench did something very peculiar, something which made Ellie stop mid-sentence. He smelled her. Literally. He stood up, leaned over the desk and sniffed deeply.

"Hmm. Healthy. Reasonably young. Ideal weight, and slightly taller than average. Suitable, I suppose."

"Suitable?" Ellie repeated, gazing at the man before her in disgust. The freak before her, in his white suit, in a little office tucked away deep in his labyrinth of a restaurant. She stood up - yes, she was desperate for work. But she wasn't a fool, and she wasn't going to lower herself to working for somebody like this. "Thank you, Mr. Wrench. But I'm afraid I don't wish to continue this interview."

Ellie turned to leave. Then it hit her. _I can't get out,_ she realised. _I don't know the way out!_ She felt panic rising in her chest and turned back round to face Mr. Wrench, who was grinning broadly now.

"Where's the nearest exit?" She demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. He didn't reply. Instead, he slowly walked around his desk and towards her. All at once, everything that she had noticed but dismissed came flooding back to her, as the perception filter's effects wore off. Even the strongest perception filter won't work once you _know_ beyond any doubt something is wrong, and Ellie knew that by now. A hideous picture began to form in her mind. A dilapidated wreck of a building, which she'd mistaken for a buzzing, fancy restaurant. A handsome, if slightly disfigured man in a posh suit who came to greet her. Now, looking back, hadn't that man been dressed in filthy rags? Hadn't he stunk? Hadn't his mole actually been a wart? She thought back to that dining room - only now, far too late, she realized that it hadn't been a dining room at all. It was...something else. As for the guests who'd been eating there...no way were those human beings. She hadn't so much as glanced at them, but in that moment, she knew that if she had looked closer, whatever she would have seen would have sent her screaming from the building, and possibly, just possibly have saved her life. Finally, she remembered the impossibly long walk to Wrench's office...

Ellie knew better than to go out into the corridors to escape Wrench. She'd be lost and helpless in seconds. There was his window! Crying, she barged past him and tried to smash it open. Yet as hard as she whacked it, she couldn't make even a tiny crack. She felt Wrench's cold, slippery hand close over her mouth, cutting off the scream that was about to emerge.

"We _all_ have jobs in here." Wrench told her sincerely as she cried and writhed to get away from him. "And now you've come to me, _you'll_ have a job too. Your woes are over. Your poverty is over. All your troubles are over now, Ellie Oswald."

Ellie sobbed, her tears spilling onto Wrench's hand. He didn't release her mouth, but his thumb and first finger moved upwards to her nose. He clamped her nostrils shut tightly. Ellie's heart exploded in her chest as she realized what he was doing. She struggled against him even harder, but he gripped her round the waist tightly, and no amount of writhing and fighting helped...she felt horrible, raw pain gnawing at her lungs, but every time she tried to inhale, Wrench's horrible clammy flesh prevented any air getting into her body. She was being suffocated, and the pain was unbearable. Her lungs were on fire...she cried desparatley, but with every passing second, her struggles became weaker and weaker. Finally, after two minutes of horrible agony, she stopped fighting completely. She hung limply in Wrench's arms. The agony of her air-deprived lungs was burning ever stronger, but she didn't have any strength left in her. Her head hurt, and her arms hung uselessly as her sides.

She wanted her last thoughts to be of her beautiful daughter Clara and her husband Dave. But try as she might, the horrible facts of reality got in the way of those thoughts - I'm getting murdered! I'm gonna die, here and now, just forty-four years old. They'll have to go on without me...all I wanted was a job...I don't deserve this...

Except she didn't die. Tomasz Wrench let her go with seconds to spare, letting her drop, unconscious, to the floor at his feet (dressed in white shoes to match his suit). He looked down at her thoughtfully, smiling a twisted smile. Right on cue, there was a knock on his office door.

"Come." He called.

The door opened, and in walked the waiter. He was dressed in filthy, off-white rags, with a torn and ancient red waistcoat. An enormous growth spurted from somewhere at the side of his nose. His face was lopsided, leering and unwashed.

"Shall I take her?" The thing that Ellie had thought was a waiter wheezed.

"Yes," Wrench said slowly. "Yes. This is quite a moment, is it not? She's the first. The first meal, you might say."

"Yes sir," The thing wheezed, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. "She alive?"

"She is," Wrench assured him. "Just."

So the creature took Ellie Oswald. It's important to understand that, at this point, Ellie was certainly alive. She would have very likely recovered from her near suffocation as well. But they did something with her. They _took_ something, in a process that I neither fully understand, nor do I want to fully understand it. What I do know, however, is that an hour later, Ellie Oswald was dead. They dumped her in an alleyway when they'd finished with her, where she would be discovered by some poor, hapless citizen.

The official cause of death was a brain aneurysm. Nobody could explain why she'd been down an alleyway by herself, but there was no evidence of any foul play.

There's one other thing I know - that night, as Dave and Clara Oswald wept in each other's arms, unable to comprehend what the police officers who'd come knocking with grim faces had told them. At that same time, the man who called himself Tomasz Wrench felt stronger than he had in a long time.

* * *

 **Note: I don't own Doctor Who, I'm not getting paid to do this, etc etc.**

 **Just to clarify, Ellie Oswald is a real character, as is Dave Oswald - both appeared in series 7.**

 **Thanks for reading the first chapter, hope you all enjoyed it.**


	2. The Horror Returns: March 2020

_**5th March 2020**_

* * *

Kate Stewart observed the drunk with a mixture of pity and disgust. Mainly disgust, in light of the details of his criminal record, which had been passed onto her by the police.

This was rare - whilst UNIT was (technically) a secret organization, it's existence was common knowledge, and it's purpose was generally accepted - UNIT dealt with things that were "strange." And "strange" things happened a lot in London. Although UNIT would never confirm people's suspicions regarding what it did, it was an unavoidable fact that there was little truly secret about it. And plenty of people wanted to speak to UNIT, convinced they'd seen this, that or the other.

Usually, it was dealt with by some poor, lowly junior (assuming that the police felt it appropriate to pass the case onto them). And usually, it was a load of hogwash. Either the people who came were delusional or simply desperate for attention. Or, sometimes, they made up stories with the sole intention of getting into a UNIT base, to try and prove that UNIT was all about aliens. To date, nobody had succeeded. Two men who almost broke into the Black Archive were shot dead. At least four needed their memories wiped after what they'd seen. Basically the people who came to report seeing inexplicable activity were usually time wasters.

But today was different. The drunk had a story, a story so worrying that Kate, head of UNIT, was conducting the interview.

The man blew his nose on a soiled handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket, a beat of snot still dangling from his nose. He was coming down all right. It had been a long time since his last drink. Several hours.

"You want to tell me what happened yesterday, John?" Kate said softly, sitting next to him. They were in one of the interrogation rooms. It was dressed up like a comfortable little living area, but secret cameras were recording the meeting, and armed guards lingered behind the wall opposite Kate - it was a paper thin prop wall. Kate was, of course, armed herself. Can't take any chances.

"I told the cops," the wreck burbled, his eyes scanning left and right, beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Yes. But tell _me_."

"Why should I?" John said, standing up suddenly, his face livid and dazed.

Kate inconspicuously lowered her hand to her pocket, which contained a small handgun. "Listen, John...play by our rules, okay? I don't want you to come to any harm. You want something to drink? It can be arranged. It can. Just tell me what happened to you."

John eyed her suspiciously, "a proper drink, you mean? Booze?"

Kate nodded slowly, "if that's what you want." She wasn't proud of herself. Plying an alcoholic with alcohol was a lowly tactic. A lowly thing for anybody to do. But facts were facts - this man had vital intelligence, and Kate _needed_ to hear his story.

That was UNIT all over, though. It didn't play by any national rules. It didn't even play by international rules. It made it's own rules, and most of the time it broke even those. The cold facts were, as Kate had come to accept, that when you are dealing with enemies from other worlds, there _can't_ be rules. Sometimes, victory had to be won by any means necessary. She understood that, and so had her father.

That isn't to say that Kate was proud of some of UNIT's tactics, both past and present. But she'd done a lot to improve things - since she was appointed leader, the British division of UNIT had focused less on military might and more on research and science. No longer was UNIT content to shoot first and ask questions later. That wasn't the way any more.

But one thing's for sure - bribing an alcoholic with booze, while immoral, was nothing in comparison to some of the other things they'd had to do over the years.

It did the trick though. John Lamm collapsed back onto the sofa and, wiping his nose and mouth with the same disgusting scrap of handkerchief, nodded. "Where d'you want me to start then?"

"After you left the pub, John. Tell me about what happened then."

"Yeah, awright. So uh...well, you say we left, what actually 'appened was they kicked us out. Me and me mate Tony, that is."

"Tony Gardner?"

"That's the one, yeah. Poor Tony..." John became tearful again, and reached for his handkerchief. Kate dropped her gaze as he fumbled around with it, and waited patiently for him to carry on.

"So yeah...we went walkabout, and er..."

"Yes, about that," Kate interrupted, "This pub...where was it?"

"Covent Garden, ma'am."

"And what, if I might ask, made you and Tony go to Mayfair?"

"Well, I'll sound a little silly here ma'am. But I don't right know."

"No?"

"No." John scratched his head. "I'm thinking we was just going to take a look at the posh 'ouses and whatnot. You know?"

"I know," Kate agreed, fairly sure that John and the late lamented Tony Gardener had been intending to do more than "take a look" at the posh homes in Mayfair.

"Yeah...well, we was just walking along, minding our own busy-ness, when we saw the chemists' shop."

"The chemists?" Kate repeated, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Would you care to elaborate on that John?"

"Awright, ma'am." John said. "Now, here's the deal - I'll tell ya the whole story, you get me a drink. Deal?"

"Deal," Kate assured him. "Go on."

"Awright. Well here's what happened. Like I said, we was just walking down the road, when all of a sudden"

* * *

 _Tony noticed the brick building on the other side of the road._

 _"Well I'll be!" Tony exclaimed, grabbing John's arm and pointing across the road with an unsteady, drunken arm._

 _"Whass it?" John asked, following Tony's finger. Across the road, stood a brick building._ The _building, the very same one that Ellie Oswald had died in fifteen years earlier. Only it wasn't a restaurant. A sign above the glass door read "The Panoptican Chemists' Store."_

 _"Yeah, man!" John exclaimed, punching the air. "Me heads killing me, pal. Let's go in. Get some par...parrots..."_

 _"Some medicine!" Tony exclaimed, not even attempting to form the word "paracetamol" in his drunken stupor._

 _"Awrighty-roo!" John agreed. "Then it's back to work, yeah?" He winked at Tony._

 _"Too right." Tony laughed, "valuables to liberate 'n stuff!"_

 _So that's just what they did - crossing the road, not bothering to look in either direction, the two hapless losers tumbled through the glass door of the building, the building which they saw as a chemist._

 _It was an odd place. The green walls were covered in weird circles. The tiled floor was red and white. Behind the counter stood a particularly little man in a sterile white medical tunic, and blue sterile gloves. He looked vaguely Chinese, and had a nasty sort of blemish on his nose._

 _"Hello, gents." He said, beaming. "Can I help you?"_

 _"Yeah, geez. Need some pain-killers, innit?"_

 _"No, no, no, no!" Tony said, doubling over in hysterical laughter. "We're in_ Mayfair _, Johnny boy! Gotta speak the language. 'Ere! Like this - I say! Step lively shopkeep! I want some medicine, tout suite!"_

 _The two idiots cracked up with laughter. The "chemist" continued to smile inanely, gazing at them evenly._

 _"I see," he said finally, "would you care to meet my boss? I think she'll know what's best for you two gentlemen."_

 _"Ay! Gentleman is what we are!" John bellowed, cheering. "Is your boss cute, sonny?"_

 _The chemist smiled. "Oh yes. She's pretty. Come now! Come come!"_

 _The idiots allowed him to lead them behind the counter, and through a little door leading to the staff area. A few people were working at desks, but of course John and Tony paid them no attention._

 _If Ellie Oswald had sleepwalked through the impossibly long walk to Wrench's office fifteen years before, the two pillocks of whom I have the displeasure to write about today were positively comatose throughout the whole thing. The grey, metal corridors blurred past them and, unlike Ellie, not even a scrap of doubt entered their drunken heads._

 _The chemist stopped them in a crossroad of corridors. "Mrs. Wrench's office is just down there, gentlemen." He said, gesturing down a narrow corridor with a wooden door at the end._

 _John and Tony didn't slowly and nervously approach that door - they weren't here for a job interview. They charged towards it, and burst in without knocking. A light, airy office met them on the other side. And at the desk, sat a young woman._

 _The sight of that young woman knocked some sense straight back into the drunks. She was wearing a hideous outfit, a blood red top with a huge, frilly neck and massive buttons at the front. It had strange shoulder-pads and was rolled up at the arms. She stood up, revealing a short, frilly red skirt and two pale bare legs. She wore red high heels and frilly socks._

 _The two men gazed at her, then at each other. And burst out laughing again._

 _"_ What _an outfit!" Tony stammered, wiping tears from his eyes. The woman was beautiful. Her long hair was blonde, almost white, and hung loosely over her shoulders. Her face was smeared with white powdery makeup._

 _"Hiya lads!" she said, beaming, bouncing up and down on the balls of her high-heeled shoes._

 _"H...hello," John said, slightly more together than his unfortunate friend.  
_

 _"I'm Thomasina Wrench, but you can call me Tammy!" She spoke quickly - so quickly, that it was hard to get every word. She was hyper-active to such an extent that John had never seen._

 _"How-can-I-help?" She said, grinning even more broadly, each word shooting out of her mouth like a bullet._

 _"Well, I dunno," John slurred, "we just wanted some painkillers, ya see...but your guy made us come see ya."_

 _"Ohh," she giggled, "Well I'm glad he did. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! So glad! Sit down! Sit sit sit!"_

 _John and Tony staggered to the seats in front of Wrench's desk. Tony's was the very same that Ellie Oswald once sat on, in the last hours of her life._

 _"So, are you single?" Tony jabbered, resting his head on her desk._

 _"Quiet now," Wrench said, handing Tony a tablet which he swallowed without glancing at it. She gave John one also - her pale hand felt strangely cold._

 _He was just raising it to his mouth when something held him back...it was a look the woman had quickly given Tony - a quick look, blink and you'll miss it. But she looked eager. Too eager. In a decision more intelligent than one would expect from John, he pretended to put the tablet in his mouth. He pretended to swallow, keeping it firmly in his closed hand, which he placed in his lap. He didn't feel drunk now. Finally, he was starting to see things as they were...where_ was _he? Who was this bizarre woman in her bizarre outfit?_

 _And why was Tony now frothing at the mouth? Why were his eyes glazed over like that?_

 _"What? Tony!" John screamed, leaping to his feet. He wheeled around to face the woman, letting his own capsule drop to the floor. "Do something!"_

 _But the woman only laughed. Desperate, John rushed to the door, to call the guy from the counter back. But when he opened the door, he discovered the man standing there already. He was hideously disfigured, not remotely human. John screamed as the creature's hands closed over his throat. Behind him, he heard a hideous juicy sound, and Tony groaned sharply, before falling silent abruptly. John turned his head...the woman had stabbed John in the neck with a letter opener which had been on the desk. He was dead! She'd killed him._

 _John opened his mouth to scream again, and_

* * *

"And?" Kate pressed him urgently.

"And what..." John said, sounding vague and distant.

"Well, how did you get out?"

"Oh, well that's easy. I...well, I uh..."

Kate's hand closed tightly over her pistol, her mouth going dry. "You didn't get out, did you John?"

"Well, I musta done...I'm here ain't I...I..."

Kate got to her feet, pulling the gun out of her pocket and aiming squarely at his heart. "Your a trap."

"Woah, woah, woah..." John cried, showing her his empty hands. "Hold it, hold it! I ain't done nothing...I..."

He didn't say anything else. Instead, he keeled over with a groan, collapsing onto the floor. The fake wall was knocked over and armed guards poured into the room.

"At ease," Kate told them sternly. "The man's dead."

And he was - John Lamm's eyes were wide open but unseeing, his hands stiff and clenched. Except -

Kate gasped as his mouth, hung loosely open, started moving again, forming words. _"You've been warned. A polite notice from one friend to the other, sincerely, the Other."_

The guards looked incredulously at Kate, who stared down at the dead man who was still speaking. The same words, over and over again. Kate knelt down and tried to hold his mouth shut, desperate to make him stop...

But he didn't. Not until one of the guards, on Kate's order, pulled the trigger, blasting John's mouth into pieces. He was dead already, she knew that much. When him and Tony had been found in an alleyway, they'd both been dead. Only John still had a role to play in whatever foul business was happening in Mayfair. Correction; whatever foul business had started again in Mayfair.

It had happened before. Now, it was back. The _Other_ was back.

That evening, Kate Stewart filed a digital report to Geneva, requesting a full scan and search of the Mayfair area. So far, UNIT had found nothing. Not a chemists, not a restaurant, nowhere bearing the name Panoptican. But Kate knew it was there. She'd read the files, and she knew it had happened before...

So she sent her report. Two minutes later, it was being read by the powers that be. Four minutes after that, it had gone to the American branch, who would be lending some of their gear to aid the search effort.

Shortly after that, a spaceship disguised as a diner intercepted the report. The pilot of that Tardis had all UNIT reports beamed directly to her, just in case anything required her attention...

And that was how Clara Oswald came to learn of the Other. And, by extension, what the Other had done many years ago...


	3. Martha Jones Gets A Call

**_"Sometimes I think...a Time Lord lives too long."_**

 **\- The Tenth Doctor, The End of Time Part 2, 2010**

* * *

 _ **6th March 2020**_

* * *

Martha Jones listened to Clara with growing concern, her eyes narrowing.

"So that's about it," Clara's voice said down the telephone line.

"I see." Martha said faintly, and the two women lapsed into tense silence.

"Well then...will you come?" Clara asked finally.

"Yes, I'll come. We'll both come." With that, Martha put the phone down gazing at it in fascination, her mind going at a hundred miles per hour.

"Babe? Who were that?" Mickey's voice drifted in from the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

Martha slowly strolled back into the kitchen-diner, but simply shook her head for an answer. She sat down at the table opposite Mickey and hid her face in her hands. Her shoulders will still - she wasn't crying. She was remembering.

"Babe!" Mickey exclaimed, alarmed at his wife's behaviour. Martha finally looked up, her eyes distant and glassy.

"Yeah?"

"Who were that?"

"A woman." Martha said dreamily, "a woman named Clara Oswald..."

"Clara Oswald?" Mickey repeated, "who's she?"

"I don't really know, but...it's...it's about _him_ , Mickey."

Mickey's eyes widened. "The Doctor?"

"Yeah. Clara used to travel with him as well...she wants our help."

Mickey shook his head slowly, "but Martha...we promised ourselves this was all over...no more bog monsters, no more weirdness. We _promised_!"

Martha dug her spoon into her cornflakes thoughtfully. "We did..." she said finally, not looking up at Mickey, transfixed on the milk swirling around at the bottom of the bowl. "But...well, it's the _Doctor_. You know the Doctor, Micks. Surely you want to see him again?"

"I _knew_ the Doctor," Mickey corrected her, "truth be told, I can't remember much."

"Nor me." Martha agreed. "But we've been asked to go back down to London..."

Mickey dropped his gaze to his own breakfast, not wanting to ask the burning question - "Oh, but why? Why is that?" He didn't want to know. Because, of all the things he'd forgotten over the years, there's one thing he did remember- the Doctor meant trouble. No, it wasn't his fault. It was never his fault. But trouble followed him all right. He and Martha had been doing all right for years now. They were out of UNIT, and out of alien-hunting totally. They owned a nice little flat in Manchester, and they had good, ordinary jobs- he as an airline mechanic and she, of course, as a doctor. They were comfortable. But now...this!

Finally, he relented. "Why?" He felt the word come spilling out of his mouth of it's own accord, and he regretted it the instant it did. Because now it was too late to turn back, he feared- because that question would invite an answer. And once he knew that answer, he'd be involved. He'd know about whatever was happening, and it would be impossible, yes impossible, to not be involved.

"She wasn't that specific," Martha said, "basically, something bad is happening. Something that she says also happened when I travelled with him. Whatever it is, we need the Doctor. She wants us to help find him."

"But how can we help?" Mickey asked.

"I've no idea, Micks. But I think we should go. Whatever it is- he'd do it for us."

Mickey shrugged, "But we're...we're good here, ain't we? Good jobs, a good home. A good life. We...we...", he looked at his wife's stony face, and gave up. "All right. Let's do it."

* * *

Later that day, they each made a phone call to work. Mickey's was simple enough- he pretended to be ill. Martha was rather more a difficult discussion. She couldn't quite bring herself to lie about it. She worked with sick people every day, and to pretend to be ill herself somehow seemed...almost dirty. So she opted for a more truthful tact;

"I know it's short notice, Mr. Davies." Martha told her boss down the phone. "But you know I wouldn't let you down unless it was important."

"Do I?" Mr. Davies replied bluntly down the line. "Way I see it, you're bailing out on us, Martha. I know it's been a busy time right now, but this is the last thing we need. I got two nurses off sick, one of the junior doctors has come in hungover, now the only senior doctor on duty is calling in sick...what am I meant to do, Martha? Can you tell me that?"

"I can't," Martha admitted, "I'm sorry, sir. I've gotta do this, though."

"So tell me what it's about!"

Martha was flummoxed- what could she tell him? That she used to travel through time with an alien? That she was once a member of a secret military organization? That she had to go to London to do...well, to do what exactly? Try and get him back? She wasn't even sure what she was meant to do.

"I can't, sir...but it's for a very old friend. Probably the best friend I ever had. I've been told that something bad that happened when I was with him has started happening again, and I need to go. I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't let my patients down if it wasn't urgent."

"I ain't just worried about the patients, Martha." Mr. Davies replied, "I'm worried about us! Our trust! How are we going to cope without you?"

But now Martha was angry. "Give it a rest, all right?" She snapped. "I work like a bloody machine day in, day out. There's something I need to do, and I'm going to do it. Are you gonna fire me?" Martha could hardly believe she was saying these things- was really prepared to lose her job for a man she hadn't seen in years and barely remembered?

"No, I ain't gonna fire you." Mr. Davies said finally, "But I'm not happy, Martha. I won't forget this."

"No, sir."

"Then go. Whatever it is, it must be important. But be back here as soon as you can. D'you hear me? As soon as you can."

"I will. Thanks." Martha hung up before he could change his mind.

Mickey poked his head round the bedroom door, "All sorted with work?"

"Yeah, fine." Martha lied, cradling her iPhone for a moment. Eventually, she set it down and carried on packing- Mickey was packed. He was packed and ready to go in ten minutes flat. Martha took longer, actually considering what she took, as opposed to throwing anything that came to hand into the suitcase. That said, had she packed when she was travelling with the Doctor? She couldn't remember, but she didn't think so. He'd blown hot and cold with her at first, she remembered. "One trip. Just one trip." One trip had turned into at least twenty, probably more. It had only ended when...but she didn't want to think about that. Not that year, the year that never was.

She neatly folded two blouses and laid them in the suitcase, slamming it shut. Tired of packing, she sat down on the side of her bed a moment, lost in thought. They'd been some crazy times, hadn't they? Oh blimey, they'd been some crazy times. She remembered working as a junior doctor, back in 2008. So long ago. She'd met him at work, hadn't she? She thought so. He'd been a patient...or he was pretending to be. She remembered New York. Two of them, in fact...and although she knew a lot of it had been terrifying, none of the memories (aside from that year) were uncomfortable ones. She'd been scared plenty of times, but all she could remember now was the excitement...how thrilled she always was, each time she stepped out of that box...yet those memories slept in her mind for most of the time. Indeed, today was the first time she'd even thought about the Doctor in years. Maybe it was something to do with the Tardis's perception filter...who knows? The memories were there, faint but most certainly tucked away in her mind. She just didn't look very often.

There was one adventure, however, that Martha Jones did not remember at all. If someone had walked into her room at this very moment, and uttered the word "Shakespeare", she'd have remembered a few scant details- she'd have remembered witches, she's have remembered meeting the man himself...she'd have remembered little snippets. But if that person had walked into her room and uttered the words "the Other", she would draw a blank. She wouldn't remotely associate them with her travels, and hearing them would stir any of her memories of those adventures.

But such an adventure had happened during her travels. In fact, the adventure in question marked the beginning of the Doctor's battles with that creature. And it went a little bit like this-

* * *

 ** _A Long Time Ago_**

* * *

 _"Where are we?" Martha asked, as the Tardis materialized with it's usual groaning and clattering._

 _"Well," the Doctor said brightly, pulling his long brown coat on over his blue suit, "I think...we've landed on top of a mountain!"_

 _"Really?" She moaned, ignoring the cheesy grin which had spread across his gorgeous face. How she loved that face. "What good is that?"_

 _"Ah, where's your sense of adventure, Martha?" He nudged her playfully on the shoulder, holding her red leather jacket out. "Come on, suit up. It's gonna be a cold one."_

 _"My sense of adventure died in that escape pod." Martha said, snatching her jacket from his hand. I'd nearly been plunged into a sun just a few short hours ago. Kind of takes the fun out of adventure, something like that. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but smile. The Doctor's relentless enthusiasm was irresistible._

 _"Well what are we waiting for!" he beamed, seizing Martha's arm. "Come on!"_

 _They ran to the wooden doors and yanked them open, revealing...oh boy!_

 _It's funny- at that precise moment in time, Martha thought that this sight would be one that would stay with her forever. Funny how things work out._

 _Martha's mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged from her head. It was a mountain all right, just about the highest mountain anybody could imagine. Whichever way she looked, neighbouring mountains sat, gleaming in the sunlight. She snow reflected the light, and already Martha's head began to hurt a little. Sensing her discomfort, the Doctor fished around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. She took them gratefully. He, she noticed, didn't bother, his eyes unaffected by the glare of the countless, pointed summits all around them. They stretched far, far out over the horizon. In spite of herself, Martha was shocked to feel a throb of tears in her eyes._

 _"Oh, Doctor..." she gasped._

 _"Wow..." the Doctor, she was quietly relieved to see, looked similarly moved by what stood before them. It wasn't Earth, that was for darn sure. Nowhere on Earth could look like this. The mountains were almost blue, and although it was cold, the air felt both thick and healthy. It would be thin at this altitude on Earth, and the temperature would surely have been far lower than this. It was a different planet, and different rules were in play._

 _"Anyone live here?" Martha asked the Doctor breathlessly._

 _"Not in your sense," the Doctor replied. "This is the planet Yaed, in the Isop Galaxy. Known as the Ice Giant, or or glittering jewel. A hundred-thousand kilometers of mountains, and ice. Oh, there's life here- things with big teeth and claws! But no- nobody burning the natural resources or building all over the glaciers. Nothing like that."_

 _"You sure?" Martha asked, looking away from the Doctor._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Yeah? Then what's that?" Martha pointed a little way down the nearest mountain._

 _The Doctor wheeled around and followed Martha's outstretched finger. She was pointing at a base, a base dug into the very side of the next mountain...it was supported by steel girders which went way down to the bottom of the mountain. It jutted out of the wall of ice like a platform, an iron grey structure with at least- so far as the Doctor could tell- eight stories, and a good ten-to-twenty windows on each floor. And the lights were on._

 _"Well I never..." he exclaimed, "looks to be a deluxe state-grade build to me...fascinating. Shall we go have a look?"_

 _"I don't think we've got a choice." Martha replied, now staring up at the sky. Yet again, the Doctor turned round to see what she was looking at. There was a drone- a big ugly insect made of plastic and wire mesh- hovering above them soundlessly. It had four rotors jutting above it, but they were simply for decoration. They didn't spin. It was, the Doctor saw, powered by solar energy, made to look retro._

 _"Command: Follow. Follow." The drone commanded monotonously in a staccato, and reminded the Doctor most uncomfortably of a Dalek's voice._

 _"Martha..." the Doctor began._

 _"Yeah, Doctor?"_

 _"I think your probably right."_


	4. Ian Chesterton Gets A Letter

_**"Have you ever thought what it's like to be wanderers in the fourth dimension? Have you?**_

 **\- The First Doctor, An Unearthly Child Part 1, 1963**

* * *

 _ **7th March, 2020**_

* * *

Ian Chesterton thought he was fine, until the heart palpitations started.

He'd read his letter sitting in his favourite armchair in the retirement home's lounge. As always, he wore a shirt and tie, with a greeny-brown blazer and matching trousers. Ian Chesterton liked to look smart. In fact, he insisted on it. Force of habit, he supposed. His fellow retirees (or, as he called them, his fellow inmates), tended to sit around in chinos and short-sleeved shirts, but Ian always felt better when he dressed smart. He felt more like himself.

He was an old man. The oldest resident in the home, in fact. Ninety-four years of age, but still going strong thank you very much. Oh, he couldn't do so much these days. He couldn't take long walks, he couldn't eat big meals, he couldn't-

-run!-

-but he could get around just fine. He'd only recently given up work. Until 2015, he'd been the head Governor at Coal Hill School. But he, along with his team, were turfed out when the school renovated. There was always something odd about all of that...but it wasn't any of his business. Truth be told, he enjoyed having nothing to do, more so than he cared to admit. He was a rich man, and thus the care home he lived in was better than many of the other's he'd heard about. He got on well with everyone here, nurses (or, as he called them, guards) and inmates alike. You might be wondering why a man such as Ian would be in a care home at all - as I've said, he could still do most things easily enough for himself. Truth be told, living alone scared him. It hadn't been a problem when he was a young man. He'd been married. But after his wife passed on, he found himself alone in a big old home in Park Lane, all by himself. His children came and went often enough. When he finally plucked up the courage to confess about how scared he was, his son even offered to move back in. But Ian wouldn't hear of that. He didn't want to be a burden on his children. So really, that left only one option. Residential care. Fair enough, he might not strictly need it, but he wasn't a fool. He knew that he might need it in the not too distant future, in fact he most likely would need it in the not too distant future. He was no spring chicken.

So, with some sadness, he sold his big old house and moved out here to Cambridgeshire. The home had a library, a lounge (where he sat now, clutching his letter), a garden and even a croquet field. Ian liked croquet. They had music nights, which Ian would always attend. His favourite was the Beatles, but he liked more or less any of the records they played. They had quizzes, which he usually won. Especially science related ones. Prerogative of an old science teacher. They even had bingo, which was the only thing Ian didn't attend. He didn't like gambling.

So that was Ian's life. A cozy existence for, what he sadly accepted, were surely among his final years on this Earth. He wasn't afraid to die. The idea didn't scare him. He rarely thought about it. But when it did cross his mind, it made him a little sad. He enjoyed his life, possibly more so now than he ever had before. He'd be sad to leave it all behind. All the comforts, all the memories...it would be sad to say goodbye to them, and he hoped he had a few more years at least before that time came.

Memories...

Ian was suddenly aware that he was shaking. Not violently, but definetley trembling a little. At the same time, he was aware that the area to the left of his chest hurt a little. His heart seemed to be hammering away in there, the vibrations reaching up through his neck and throat. He swallowed, and mopped his forehead, aware that he was perspiring quite heavily.

He groaned a little, and scrunched the letter in his hand. His head hurt.

"Ian!" Agnes cried out, rising from her chair and hurrying over to him. Correction - rising slowly from her chair, and shuffling over to him.

"Ian, whatever's the matter?" Agnes exclaimed, pulling a chair close to him and sitting down. Ian simply shut his eyes and shook his head. He felt sick.

"Shall I call a nurse?" Agnes moaned, feeling Ian's forehead, checking his pulse. "I can! Are you ill? Shall I get someone?"

"No, no." Ian said softly, opening his eyes. "I'm not ill. I'll be fine shortly. I hope..."

"Then what's wrong?" Agnes pressed, peering into his eyes closely, looking for any hint of confusion or illness. "You want to talk about it?"

"Thank you, Agnes. I would." Ian said gratefully, smiling at Agnes's worried, caring old face. He loved her a little bit. Not in any romantic sense. Not as he'd loved his wife, and a handful of other women in the past. But he loved her as a friend. Other people found her inquisitive, overbearing nature a little annoying, and he supposed he did at times. But today, he was grateful for it.

"So what's wrong?" Agnes asked. "Can I help?"

Ian smiled again. "I don't think you can help, no. This letter...it came just today. It's from a woman who died five years ago."

Agnes frowned, "Eh?"

"Clara Oswald was an English teacher at the school where I used to be the head of Governers, you see," Ian said softly, fondling the paper thoughtfully, "a pretty young woman. Very pretty. I knew her very little. Only to say hello. Seems now that we had more in common than I'd ever have imagined! But she died. She died young. And that was five years ago."

"So...is that an old letter?" Agnes suggested.

Ian shook his head, "Certainly not. Brand new, posted just yestarday. First class. The paper is fresh as anything, look."

Agnes looked at his letter, and agreed that it did look exceptionally crisp and white - not like paper which had been hanging around in some drawer for five years.

"Right...so...a prank? What's it about?"

"Ah!" Ian said, patting Agnes on the arm. "Well now, Agnes my love, you've asked the burning question - what this letter is about."

"Ye-ees..." Agnes said, half-smiling. "Ian, you aren't making much sense, deary."

"I suppose not," Ian agreed. "All right. Agnes, we're friends aren't we? I know lots about you, and you know lots about me."

"Why, yes." Agnes said, "I think so."

"So tell me...what have I ever told you about my younger years? Anything you remember in particular?"

Agnes considered for a moment. "I know you worked as a science teacher back in the 1960's. You worked in that same school where you were a Governer in later life. I know that you married a nice young lady, who you loved very much. I know she sadly died a few years ago. I know that..."

"Ok, love," Ian chuckled, "that will do for now. But tell me this - did I ever, or have I ever, mentioned a woman by the name of Barbara Wright?"

Agnes considered again. "Not that I remember," she said finally. "But I suppose you might have. Who was she?"

"My best friend." Ian said promptly. "Probably the best friend I ever had. She too died, a long time ago now. But I think you are right. I don't think I've ever told you about her. Why do you suppose that would be?"

Agnes shrugged. "I'm not sure, Ian. Why?"

"Well...and shame on me for this...but there's a very good reason I've never mentioned a lady named Barbara Wright to you, in all the time I've known you. She's never come up in conversation. I've never thought to mention her. Oh, Agnes, what I'm trying to tell you is that I haven't even _thought_ of Barbara Wright in over twenty years. Not once."

Agnes gaped at him. "You can't be serious?"

"I'm entirely serious, to my shame." Ian said, hanging his head. "Not even once."

"So...am I right in thinking that this letter is about her, somehow?" Agnes asked, more than a little worried about Ian's rather jittery behaviour. He was usually so calm.

"Yes and no." Ian said. "Barbara was there, that's for sure. She was involved. But it's not specifically about her. This letter is in relation to a time in my life ay back in the 1960's. Something happened to me and Barbara back then, something impossible. Something which I haven't even thought about in years."

"Okay, deary...and what was that?"

Ian looked lovingly at Agnes's kindly, concerned old face and shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dear. I don't think I can tell you that. Firstly, it's still a bit of a blur. Secondly, even if I did tell you what I remember, you'd think I was a old mad man. Like _he_ was." Ian finished with a little giggle.

"Like who was?" Agnes implored, "and why are you upset by the letter? What does it actually say?"

Ian sighed. "Like I said, it's about a point in my life which I barely remember. A time that me and Barbara shared. Something that happened during that time has started happening again. I've been asked to go to London.

"Where in London?"

"The Shard." Ian said promptly. "And what's more, I think I'll go."

But Agnes shook her head. "Ian, this sounds a bit dodgy...a letter from a woman who died five years ago...asking you to go to London! It sounds like some sort of fraud to me, deary."

"Oh no." Ian said, "look at this."

He showed her the letter, his thumb pointing to the final paragraph. It read; _You might not trust this letter, and I wouldn't blame you. So I enclose this word to gain your trust - "Skaro." Mr. Chesterton, I know I'm asking a lot, but I hope you'll understand that I wouldn't ask unless it was important. And it_ is _important. Will you come?"_

 _Yours Truly_

 _Clara Oswald._

Agnes read the letter and looked back up at Ian.

"Skaro?" She asked. "What's that?"

Ian shuddered. "An unwelcome memory. A very unwelcome memory. But it does the trick - it's how I _know_ this letter is genuine."

"So will you go?" Agnes asked quietly.

Ian nodded slowly, "I will."

* * *

So that's how Ian Chesterton came to find himself in a taxi an hour later. He packed quickly, quicker than Martha and Mickey had managed the day before. The guards were unhappy with him leaving like this, even though he assured them it was only temproary. The chief of guards (otherwise known as the matron, Sheila McCanna) took him into her office for a stern meeting.

"Now, Ian," she told him firmly, "I'm afraid I'm not satisfied to let you go. Not at all."

Ian nodded sympathetically. Sheila was a formidable woman. She stood at six foot, was as broad as he was, and always tied her brownish-grey hair in a tight bun. She reminded him, to an extent, of a less hideous (and, to be fair, a much less evil) Miss Trunchbull, from Roald Dahl's "Matilda", a book he had thoroughly enjoyed reading to his grandchildren a few years ago. But that was unfair. Shiela McCanna was a kind lady. She believed in tough love. She was tough and cantankerous on the outside, but he knew she meant well.

Rather like the Doctor.

"I understand, Sheila. But it is rather important."

"So are you." Sheila snapped, "I'm sorry Ian. If I let you go to London, I won't know where you are, or whether you are safe. Your continous refusal to own a mobile phone makes you a difficult man to contact."

"Nasty little things." Ian said bluntly. "Ingenious, but nasty nonetheless."

"That's besides the point." Sheila sighed in frustration and rubbed her eyes. "Ian...you know fully well I don't want to _stop_ you from doing anything. Not least because of how remarkable you are for your age. But please understand - I can't allow this."

Ian smiled sadly, "Are you going to physically prevent me from leaving?"

Sheila shook her head, "No, Ian. I will not and I can not. But I think your place here might be put in danger if you were to leave without permission. And I'm sure we don't want that."

Ian thought for a moment, and shook his head. "I suppose not. Very well, Sheila. I do understand your point of view. Would you at least think it over? Ask the other nurses what they think?"

Sheila had made her mind up. But she was a diplomat if ever there was one. So she agreed. "Very well," she lied, "I'll have a chat. We'll let you know. But don't expect me to change my mind."

"No." Ian said, standing up to leave. "Well thankyou for that anyway, Sheila. I think I'll go to my room for now."

"Good idea," she said, watching him leave. She was confident he wouldn't just leave. Ian was one of the good residents. Not a speck of trouble. Well liked by everyone. Polite, courteous and friendly at all times. No, she thought to herself. No way will Ian just leave without telling us. He's far too responsible.

Five minuites later, Ian Chesterton walked out of the care home.

Sitting in the taxi now, speeding towards good old London town, he felt a little guilty. A little astonished at his own behaviour. But this letter...oh, the memories it had brought back! Memories he hadn't thought about in years!

The Doctor. Susan. Himself, Ian. And Barbara. Dear Barbara.

Was the Doctor somehow still alive? Ian thought so. No - he _knew_ so. The Doctor had been old when he was young, yet somehow he knew the old codger was still alive. Was that why he'd marched himself out of the retirement home, potentially losing his place there? The chance to maybe, just maybe, see the Doctor again, and shake him by the hand? Perhaps.

Not that they'd all been good times, though. Earlier, I told you that Ian was scared to live alone. You might think a sensible gentleman like him would be rightly scared of burglars, or of falling and breaking his leg. Even of dying in his sleep, and lying there undiscovered for days. But that wasn't what scared Ian. What scared him were the nightmares. The bad dreams which woke up him in cold sweats, but which he'd usually forgotten by morning. Dreams of dead planets, and giant ants. Of cavemen, of Romans. Dreams of Aztecs and, worst of all, of _Daleks_.

 _They shot me_ , Ian thought to himself, _I tried to run, and they shot me!_

Although he didn't remember much of his time with the Doctor (or rather, he just never thought of it), there was no doubt it had impacted him and Barbara in strange, strange ways.

But there's something he had in common with Martha Jones. Like him, she travelled with the Doctor. But like her, there was one encoutner that Ian didn't remember, and would not remember until much later. It started like this...

* * *

 _"Well Doctor," a much younger Ian said, clutching the old man's shoulder and shaking it amicably, "another disaster, eh?"_

 _"I'm sorry, dear boy?" The Doctor said distantly, fiddling with the Tardis console, looking rather worried. "Did you say something?"_

 _"I said another disaster. The Reign of Terror...you landed us right in the middle of it."_

 _"Yes, yes, yes," the Doctor snapped impatiently, pushing Ian aside, "now don't distract me please!"_

 _"Oh? what's the matter?" Ian laughed. "Can I help?"_

 _"Yes, my boy, yes. Do go away and stop bothering me! There's a good chap." The Doctor patted Ian's arm, and promptly turned his back on him, fiddling with one of the switch's on the greenish-white console._

 _Ian sighed in frustration. "Sorry I asked," he muttered, and walked out of the console room, leaving the Doctor to whatever he was doing. Typical. Absolutely typical. Your best friend one moment, telling you to go away the next. He liked the Doctor, not least because the Doctor had saved his life on a few occasions now. But he was a difficult man. Well meaning, but difficult. And_ so _alien. Leaving the Doctor to his work, he strolled out of the console room and into the living room area set up just through the little set of doors in the wall._

 _Barbara and Susan were sitting on the settee in the living room, both reading books from the Tardis's extensive library._

 _"What's grandfather up to?" Susan asked, looking up as Ian walked in._

 _Ian shrugged, "You know what he's like. Always tinkering and not telling anybody else what's going on."_

 _Barbara smiled, "I'm sure he knows what he's doing, Ian," she insisted, "just give him space."_

 _"Yes," Ian agreed, sighing, "who knows? If we give him long enough, he might find out how to get us home again."_

 _"Oh yes, I'm sure he will!" Susan said enthusiastically, not quite meeting Ian's eye as she said it._

 _"Ach, I wish I shared your confidence, Susan." Ian said, laughing. "I sometimes wonder if he has the first idea how to really fly this ship of his."_

 _Right on cue, the lights flickered, and the whole ship shook violently._

 _"What the-" Ian muttered, nearly tripping over as the machine lurched again. He and Barbara exchanged a frightened look._

 _"Well come on!" Susan cried, leaping up from her seat and rushing out into the console room. Ian and Barbara followed suit, scared to run in case the Tardis lurched again._

 _"What is it?" Ian demanded. The Doctor was standing over the controls wagging his fingers helplessly. His white hair shone magnificently in the bright overhead lights of the console room._

 _"Well I don't know...everything was operating normally, and then..."_

 _The Tardis lurched violently again, and this time Ian_ did _fall over. Barbara clung onto one of the roundels in the wall, and managed to keep upright. The Doctor hung desperately to the console itself, and Susan rushed over to him, worried._

 _"Oh grandfather, what's happening?" She wailed. "What have you done?"_

 _"Done? What have I done?" The Doctor bellowed, highly affronted, "I have done nothing, my dear! I was just rewiring the scanner switch, and then..."_

 _Another lurch. The lights blinked off and on again, and the Doctor scratched his head, looking more than a little worried by his ship's behaviour._

 _"You know," he began quietly, "it's utterly extraordinary! Yes! Utterly extraordinary. The fact is, my friends, that the Tardis is operating perfectly. Look at the fault locator, it's clear!" He pointed across the room to the large panel that identified faults when they developed. It was utterly blank. As far as the Tardis was concerned, nothing was wrong._

 _"Then why does it keep doing that?" Barbara protested, as the ship gave another lurch - a smaller one this time. The white room blinked darker for a second._

 _"I wouldn't have thought it possible..." the Doctor said, "but we're being deliberately pulled off course! Hmm!_ Deliberately _pulled off course!"_

 _"But who could do something like that to the Tardis, grandfather? It's not..._ them _, is it? Have they found us?" Susan whimpered, looking frightened. Ian and Barbara exchanged a look._

 _"No, no." The Doctor said, and Susan looked relieved. "No, I don't think so. It's a magnetic force! Yes! And it's pulling us towards a planet, my dear."_

 _"Which planet?" Susan asked, clutching her head in terror._

 _The Doctor looked worried. "Well now, I'm no expert in planet-spotting my dear. But I think...or rather, I believe...I believe it might be Sabb-Landon Xavier 1, my dear. Yes! I do believe it to be the planet Sabb-Landon Xavier 1!"_

 _"And is that good news?" Ian asked the Doctor urgently._

 _"No, my boy. No, not at all! The Doctor replied promptly. "The fact is...well, to coin a phrase you Earth people use, I rather fear we are about to experience what you would call a "crash landing." Hmm!"_

 _Ian and Barbara exchanged a terrified look. Susan whimpered again, clutching her grandfather for comfort. The Doctor cradled her lovingly, glancing worringly at the instruments on the console. They were going_ too fast _. Landing wasn't going to be pleasant..._

* * *

 **Note: I am aware that an episode of The Sarah Jane Adventures offers an alternative history, where Ian and Barbara marry and, mysteriously, apparently never age after travelling with the Doctor. Truth be told, I'm not keen on that idea (just my own humble opinion). One of the reasons for that is that William Russell, who played Ian, once said that he never envisaged the two characters being anything other than friends. So I've gone with a touch more realism in this case.**

 **Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. More to come!**


	5. Jack Harkness Gets A Date

**_"I can feel it. The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at 1,000 miles an hour and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, and I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go... that's who I am."_**

 **\- The Ninth Doctor, Rose, 2005**

* * *

 _ **Zagit Zagoo Bar, 5947**_

* * *

What a dump.

That was Clara's first impression of the Zagit Zagoo. _What a dump._ The outside was a glowing pink _,_ lit like a seedy backstreet bar back on Earth, except that the lobby visible through the doors was a weird white room, which reminded her uncomfortably of that room on Gallifrey, the place she'd been taken after she died...or before she died. Or whatever.

She wandered in reluctantly, but as soon as she tried to make for the bar, she felt something long and slender touch her shoulder, holding her back. She wheeled around in alarm. Towering above her was none other than a member of the Slitheen family, leering down at her. It had been standing to the side of the entrance, and hadn't been visible from the outside. It's lethal claw was resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Help you?" it grunted. It had a deep, gurgling voice. It was a male. It's muscles bulged through it's thick green skin.

"Er..." Clara began, realizing that he was a door guard. She'd just tried to walk in straight past him. That suprised her - most Slitheen were criminals through and through. "Yeah. I'm hoping to see someone in here. Can I go in?"

"Ten credits for entry." The Slitheen growled bluntly.

"I haven't got ten credits," Clara replied, just as bluntly.

"Too bad," he replied, "so no entry."

Clara groaned, "you can't make an exception? It's kind of urgent."

"Too bad." The Slitheen repeated, a nasty smile forming on his wet little mouth.

"Well can you at least go in and ask for Captain. Jack Harkness? If he's here, I really need to speak to him."

The Slitheen gazed down at her for a few moments. Then, quite unexpectedly, he threw back his baby-faced head and laughed. It was a horrible gurgling sound.

"Jack Harkness?" The Slitheen giggled. "Why didn't you say? He'll pay your entry no trouble. Pays for all his dates."

"I...see." Clara said awkwardly. "So, er..."

The Slitheen lifted it's claw from Clara's shoulder. "Go right in. Tell him he owes us ten credits."

"Sure." Clara said. "He's definetley here tonight then, yeah?"

The Slitheen pointed through the door with one huge, taloned finger. "Right there."

Clara looked in and saw a youngish man with dark hair. She gaped. He was naked, aside from a pair of white speedo underpants and smart black shoes. He was standing on top of a large round table, whilst the people sitting down around him were passing him shot after shot of some hideous green drink, cheering him on as he downed them in quick succession, one after the other.

Clara looked back up at the Slitheen. "Him?" She asked incredously, " _That's_ Jack Harkness?"

"Afraid so." The Slitheen giggled it's horrible gurgling giggle again. "Best of luck."

Clara walked nervously into the bar, gazing around in dismay. All manner of creatures were sprawled out around her. Judoon, Ood, Sycorax, even a Sontaran. It was busy jabbering to a bunch of blue skinned people about something or other. Clara smiled. It looked and sounded identical to Strax, a Sontaran she'd once known. If she didn't know that Sontarans were clones, she would doubtless have thought it was Strax. She'd have gone over to say hello, no doubt making a spectacular show of herself.

 _What a dump_ , she thought again. She took a deep breath and, ignoring everyone else, she made for the table on which Jack Harkness stood.

"Excuse me," she announced timidly, and everyone on the table looked round. She'd previously thought they were all human, or human looking, but saw now that this wasn't the case - two were blue. Three had just one green eye in the middle of their head. Only one woman, and Jack Harkness himself, appeared to be human. Anyhow, they all looked round at Clara, mildly annoyed that somebody had interrupted the fun. Jack himself looked down from his perch, swaying mildly. He wolf-whistled and, with an elegant leap, jumped down from the table, grinning broadly at Clara. He offered his hand.

"Cap'n Jack Harkness, ma'am. And _who_ are _you_?" He winked.

Clara blushed in spite of herself and took his hand. He shook it, but didn't let go.

"Clara Oswald," she said, smiling, gently prising her hand from his. He looked a little disappointed, but didn't attempt to keep hold of it.

"Pleased to know you, Clara Oswald! How 'bout a drink?"

Clara blinked in disbelief, "Yeah, er...erm...I..."

One of the people at the table sniggered, "lost for words, babe?" He grunted.

Clara shrugged, "A drink would be good Captain. Harkness," she said finally, "as a matter of fact, you _are_ the reason I'm here tonight. I've got something I'd like to talk about..."

Jack nodded enthusiastically, "well you just get yourself a nice corner table," he said, gesturing over to a row of booths at the far end of the room. "I'll be over with the drinks. What's your's?"

"Water." Clara replied at once. "But not until your dressed."

Jack's shrugged. "Sorry folks," he said to the people at the table, who all looked disappointed to be losing him, "another time huh?"

They grumbled in agreement. Feeling awkward, Clara left the table and went over to a booth right in the far corner. She watched as Jack disappeared into the bathroom, presumably to find his clothes.

Ten minuites later, he came over. He wore a dark blue trench coat and smart trousers. He was holding a glass of water for Clara, and some noxious pink fluid for himself.

"Well then, Miss. Clara Oswald," Jack flirted, taking a gulp of his drink, "what do I owe this very great pleasure? How can I help?"

Clara sipped her water, surveying the man before her. He was very handsome. Oh yes. Not her type, but undeniably handsome. She suddenly giggled, in spite of herself.

"What?" Jack asked quickly , painting on a pretend worried look. "Ma face make you laugh? Aww maaan! _Not ma face!_ How could'ya laugh at ma face!"

But Clara couldn't stop laughing now. A hilarious thought had crossed her mind. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. She couldn't. Tears of laughter poured down her eyes.

"Sorry...sorry," she gasped finally, "I was just picturing you and him travelling together...the Doctor. The twelfth one. I don't think you would have got on with him."

Jack's smile dropped instantly from his face. "Did you say _the Doctor?"_

"Yeah," Clara said, finally regaining her composure. "You travelled with him, didn't you? For a short time?"

"Oh, sure!" Jack said at once, his cheesy grin returning, wider than before. "Yeah for sure! I _loved_ that guy. Both of him! Wild times we had. Why? What's this about?"

Clara didn't reply immediatley, but surveyed Jack with interest. She drank some more water. "You remember him, then? You remember everything?"

"Well, sure." Jack said.

"Huh," Clara said, fascinated, "it's just that some people don't. They don't exactly forget, it just sort of gets stuck at the very back of their mind. Like it's there, but they never think about it. You get me?"

"I get you," Jack agreed, "that happens to some people. Most people, even. But not _everyone_. Not me, and I guess not you?"

"No."

"It's nothing to be ashamed about though," Jack said, "even if it does happen. It's totally random. For instance, someone who loved the Doctor could end up forgetting, when someone who hated every second might remember it all until the day he dies. Time travel had weird side-effects."

"Fair enough," Clara said, "yes, this is about the Doctor. Very much so. I've got something I need to ask you."

Jack downed his drink, grimacing as the fiery liquid burnt it's way down his throat. He coughed. "Ask away."

Clara took a deep breath. "All right. Fact is, I don't travel with the Doctor anymore. You won't believe it, but I've got a Tardis of my own. Me and Me travel together."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. I'll explain later. But the thing is, there's something happening back on Earth. Something really, really bad."

"Oh?" Jack said. "let me guess - twenty-first century?"

"That's the one. 2020."

"Right. And how can I help?"

"Well," Clara began, "this thing that's happening. It's not new. It happened before. Captain. Harkness...you say you remember your time with the Doctor?"

"Sure!"

"All of it?"

"Sure!" Jack repeated firmly.

"Then tell me...does the name "The Other" mean anything to you?"

Jack frowned. "The Other? I don't...think so."

"No? Or perhaps Tomasz Wrench? The Panoptican? Anything like that?"

Jack scratched his head. "No...Clara, are you sure I was there when this stuff happened, whatever it was?"

"Oh yeah," Clara said, pulling a list out of her pocket. "My records are good."

"Can I see?" Jack asked.

"Sure," Clara said, handing him the slip of paper. "See any names you recognize?"

Jack read. "Martha Jones...Ian Chesterton...Capn. Jack Harkness, my very good self...Jo Grant...Amy Pond...Jamie McRimmon." Ian looked up at Clara. "Only recognize Martha. But I take it these are all people who've travelled with him?

"Sure," Clara said, taking the list back. "Ian Chesterton's an interesting one. I think he was one of the very first. One of the first people ever to travel with the Doctor. I knew him from work, believe it or not!"

"Crazy," Jack agreed. "Well, Miss. Clara...fact is, you got me there. I don't know nothing about "The Other", nor anything about that place you mentioned. You _quite sure_ I was there?"

"Quite sure." Clara assured him. "But you've forgotten that part, Captain. You've _all_ forgotten that part, somehow."

"Who?"

"These people," Clara said, waving the list of names at him, "the people that were there when it happened."

"Well," Jack began, stumped for words. A rarity in itself. "I'll go with that. Say I do believe you - what do you want me to do?"

"I was hoping you'd come with me." Clara said gently, "Back to 2020. Will you come, Captain?"

Jack didn't reply at once. He was studying Clara. Her eyes were fantastically huge, two big brown beacons peering out of her round, tanned little face. She was astoundingly beautiful. Jack Harkness was an easygoing man when it came to gender. He'd been attracted to both of the Doctors he'd met. The ninth, big, burly and hench. The tenth, handsome, dapper and suave. Then of course, he had also fancied both Rose and Martha. Two beautiful women.

But Jack was shallow. It had been his biggest problem throughout his long, long life. It had got him executed at least four times. The fact was, when an attractive individual of any gender or, to an extent, species fluttered his or her eyelids at Jack, the man was more or less helpless. He would do anything to impress such a person. He would do virtually anything that such a person asked. What I'm trying to say is that when someone beautiful asks Jack to do something, it's only in the most extreme circumstances that he'll say no.

Which is why, gazing into Clara's beautiful round eyes, he finally said; "Okay. I'll come."

There wasn't really much choice for a man like Jack Harkness.

"Good." Clara said, smiling. She kissed him on the cheek, and Jack felt his face turn red.

"Anytime, sweetie," he drawled, winking. "Now how do we get there? And what do you want me to do when we arrive?"

"We'll go in my Tardis," Clara said, standing up. "We're going to the Shard. I've hired out the viewing decks at the top for us all. Private party."

"Niiice!" Jack grinned, "but what are we going to do?"

Clara shook her head, "I'll explain when we're all together."

* * *

So Jack and Clara left the bar, heading back to Clara and Lady Me's Tardis. Lady Me might have been billions of years old, immortal like Jack, but she wouldn't have gotten into the bar. She still looked like a child.

When they arrived back at Clara's Tardis, Lady Me was inside, reading a book on Japanese history.

Jack shook her warmly by the hand. "Capn. Jack Harkness." He declared.

"I know." Lady Me said with a little giggle. "Bit of a legend in the immortal society."

"That's me," Jack said, winking again. Clara found it deeply cringe worthy, but didn't have the heart to tell him. She busied herself with the controls. Five minutes later, they were ready to go.

"Ready for this, Captain?" Lady Me asked him, grinning. "Been a while since you've flown in a Tardis, huh?"

Jack only nodded. His face was a picture of glee.

"Take us out, Clara." Lady Me said. "We're all set."

"Let's do it." Clara said, yanking a lever and starting the engines. With a deep, metallic throb, Clara's Tardis roared into life. The white room shuddered, and the rotor in the centre of the column rose and fell. Jack could only smile. Oh, how he'd missed that noise!

And he might get to see the Doctor again! Who knows? If Clara was bringing all his friends together like this, it had to be for a reason. Jack was a little scared. Clara hadn't spoken much about "The Other." But there'd been a weird look in her eye when she talked about it. Fear. Terrible fear. Anger too. Jack didn't know what "The Other" was, but Clara's eyes spoke a thousand words. It was something bad, something he'd met before. And it was on the rampage in 21st century London.

So yes. Besides the excitement, and the hope of _possibly_ meeting the Doctor again, Jack was scared. But if he _had_ remembered his encounter with the Other at this point, he'd have been a good deal more scared. In fact, he'd have been terrified. If Jack had remembered, he might even have refused to come. Then again, they _all_ might.

Jack Harkness encountered the Other on a little trip to 1980's London, towards the end of his travels with the Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler. It was the year 1980 to be specific. They'd been aiming for 1880, but the Doctor had sneezed just as they were landing, and hadn't applied the handbrake in time. Bad mistake. For the year 1980 was the year that the Other first crash landed on Earth. It started like a lot of the Doctor's adventures do - they arrived by accident, but decided to explore a little anyway, and quickly got into heaps of trouble. Well, in this case it seems appropriate to skip that part, and start the tale (which Jack didn't remember yet, but would do in the hours to come) at the point where he was almost killed.

* * *

 _"Out of me bloody way!" The blonde girl's cockney father bellowed as his son tried to keep him away from Jack. "I'm gunna kill 'im! I'm gunna wrap 'im up! Out me bloody' way!"_

 _"Nah, dad. Calm down!" The son exclaimed, desparatley clinging to his father. But his father was huge. A bodybuilder if ever there was one. He threw his son aside and lunged at Jack. Jack knew some martial arts, but not enough to fend off the giant coming towards him.  
"Doctor!" Jack yelled, hoping beyond hope that he would hear. The blonde girl leapt out of the bed which she and Jack had just been sharing, and stood in her father's way._

 _"Dad!" She exclaimed, "Leave him alone!"_

 _"Nah I bloody won't! I'm gunna string 'im up by his nu-"_

 _"Dad!" She screamed again, trying to block his path. He was reluctant to force her aside as he had done with his son. "I'm a grown woman now!_ Just leave him alone! _"_

 _But her father was beyond reason now. He was frothing at the mouth and red in the face. "I'll 'ave ya'!" He told Jack. "Ya're for it now, pretty boy. Fight like a man, ya little ponce!"_

 _Normally, Jack didn't shy away from fights. But he was no fool. He knew when he was beaten, and he knew also when he had no chance. This was one of those times._

 _"Doctor!" Jack screamed again. The girl's father finally snapped - pushing her gently aside, he charged at Jack like a raging bull. The last thing Jack saw, before he was tackled to the ground with back-breaking force, was that the gargantuan man was holding a knife..._

 _The next thing Jack knew was that Rose Tyler was peering down at him, relieved to see that he had opened his eyes. He groaned. His back hurt. His head hurt. More worryingly, his chest hurt._

 _"What happened?" He groaned, his voice slurred with concussion._

 _"_ You _happened." Rose said simply. Jack sat up weakly, resting against the wall of the bedroom. Ah yes! The bedroom above the pub which Jack had popped into for a round or six...then what? Ah yes...he'd met the gorgeous blonde barmaid. Then he'd met the gorgeous blonde barmaid's angry dad...oh blimey._

 _"My head..." Jack moaned. Rose nodded sympathetically._

 _A man's voice tutted from somewhere behind Rose. Peering round, Jack saw the leather-clad figure of the Doctor, bending down over the murderous giant, who was unconscious on the floor._

 _"He'll live." The Ninth Doctor replied brusquely, standing up and looking down at Jack. "I can't leave yer for five minutes, can I?_ Five minutes _, and this is what happens!"_

 _"It's not my fault," Jack insisted, aware of a wet warm feeling on his chest. On the same spot where it was hurting so badly._

 _"Who's fault was it, then?" The Doctor barked, his northern accent coming in stark contrast to the cockney voice of the man who'd just tried to kill Jack._

 _Jack didn't reply. He shut his eyes and groaned again. His head was throbbing horribly._

 _Rose smirked a little. "Maybe we should go. Before his kids come back."_

 _"Good idea," Jack said, trying to stand up. He couldn't. He was too concussed. He'd also been stabbed in the chest. No - grazed in the chest. The knife hadn't gone in, it had swept across his skin, cutting him enough to hurt, but not cause any serious harm._

 _"So what_ did _happen?" Jack asked, allowing Rose and the Doctor to grab his arms and lift him upright._

 _"The Doctor saved you," Rose said._

 _"Used me last sleep-patch on him, didn't I?" the Doctor grumbled, heaving Jack across the room clumsily. "He'll sleep at least four hours. What a waste! You know how hard they are to get?"_

 _"Sorry," Jack said meekly._

 _The three friends stumbled out of the pub, the patrons sniggering - they thought Jack was hideously drunk, from the way he was being half-carried out._

 _They stumbled out into the scorching summer air. It was hot. Boiling hot. Hottest day of 1980, as a matter of fact. The Doctor, seemingly unaffected, still wore his leather jacket and jeans. But Jack and Rose were dressed light. Rose in a white vest-top, denim shorts and flip-flops, a look that was raising plenty of eyebrows, and turning plenty of heads. Jack had left his coat in the Tardis, and wore a purple-blue t-shirt, cargo shorts and running shoes. The sun was burning down on London, the tangle of buildings and engine fumes holding the heat firmly in place._

 _"Can we go?" Rose said finally, "this is just_ too _hot."_

 _The Doctor shrugged, "Happen we better had - betcha they'll be lookin' for this idiot before long." He shook Jack roughly on the shoulder. Despite his gruffness, Rose could see a faint smile on his face, and knew that he was quietly amused by Jack's latest mishap. He had grown to like Jack. More than he would ever admit._

 _So the three of them stumbled on down the street to the Tardis - parked on the top level of a multi-story car park about two minutes away. It was as they were walking that they became aware of a strange sort of urgent whispering coming from a pair of old ladies walking in front of them. Rose strained her ears to listen, but couldn't make out any of the words. Jack was half asleep by now, concussed, injured and weak. The Doctor, however, heard one of the old women mutter something to her friend as they drew closer behind them;_

 _"They've sealed off the whole area, Gladys. Reckon it's a meteor, but I never saw a meteor like that."_

 _"Well I never," the other woman replied, "whatever could it be?"_

 _"S'cuse me love," The Doctor said at once. The two ladies turned around. "Mind if I ask what your talking about?"_

 _The old lady looked nothing short of thrilled. Another person with whom she could share the gossip. "Sure thing, handsome. Blimey, is he all right?" She nodded towards Jack suddenly, alarmed._

 _"He'll be fine, yeah." The Doctor snapped. "Now what were you saying?"_

 _"Well..." the old woman began, looking away from Jack and up at the Doctor. "It happened this morning. I live down in Kent, you see. Come up to London to visit Gladys here. And something crashed this morning. I_ saw _it."_

 _"Crashed?" Rose exclaimed. "What do you mean crashed?"_

 _"From the sky, dear," the old woman said, turning to Rose, "came down in a field."_

 _"Yes, but what was it?" The Doctor snapped again. He was quickly running out of patience._

 _"Call me Harriet," she replied, "now, they say it was a meteor in the local news, but I don't believe it. I saw what it was."_

 _"And what," the Doctor said slowly, "did you think it was?"_

 _Harriet grinned, her false teeth gleaming in the sunlight, "never heard of a meteor made of metal, dear. It was a spaceship, it ever I saw one. Bet you any money."_

 _But the three friends didn't reply. They hurried on past the old ladies, moving quickly down the street, Jack limping along between them._


	6. Jo Jones Gets A Shootout

**_"Courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened, you know. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway."_**

 **\- The Third Doctor, Planet of the Daleks Part 2, 1973**

* * *

 ** _Brazil, 6th March 2020_**

* * *

It was Santiago who first noticed the jeeps. They came into view whilst he and Jo were being driven down a long, tarmac road through the Brazilian rainforest. A curtain of green nature enclosed them, the exotic plants growing up next to the road, so tall that they nearly blocked out the sky above them. They were on their way to an airstrip deep in the jungle, where Jo would be catching a plane up to Mexico. From there, she would catch a plane to New York, and then on to London. She'd had an important phone call. She hadn't told Santiago the details, but it boiled down to two things - "it's happening again" and "will you come?" But then the jeeps appeared. They were green, and painted in camouflage patterns. They were perhaps a quarter of a behind the adapted black saloon car that he and his grandmother were travelling in.

"Er...gran?" He said, fighting off a sense of rising panic.

"What?" Jo Jones (formally Jo Grant) turned around awkwardly in her seat and peered out of the back window. "Oh goodness me!" She exclaimed, "I'm rather worried they're after _us_ you know!"

"Oh, you think? Hey - Ramirez - any chance you can step on it?" Santiago shrieked, trying and failing to stay cool.

"Not again..." Alfonso Ramirez, their driver, sighed deeply and pressed down harder on the accelerator. He was used to this by now. Working as a chauffeur for a pair of hardcore protesters meant it was pretty unavoidable.

Getting shot at, however, was less common. But that's what happened next.

There was an earsplitting _crack_ from one of the jeeps behind them. Jo and Santiago screamed as the back window of their car exploded, pieces of glass flying everywhere. Jo felt something zoom past her ear, and a gaping hole appeared in the middle of the front window - the bullet had travelled straight through the car and out the other side.

" _Guns!_ " Santiago screamed, as he and Jo ducked down under the back seats.

" _I know!_ " Jo screamed back. Another burst of gunfire came at them, this time from some sort of automatic weapons. Jo heard the metallic thud of the bullets striking the car's bodywork and shut her eyes tightly.

Ramirez slumped as low as possibly on his seat, with only his eyes and the top of his head above the level of the windows. "Anyone hit?" He called out to his passengers.

"No, darling, we're good." Jo insisted, "Are you?"

"Not yet. Just stay down!"

Another burst of gunfire. Jo heard a strange sort of sound underneath her. Sort of like somebody had punched a cushion. One of the wheels had been struck, but that was all right - they were bulletproofed tires. Jo had been meaning to get the windows done as well...that would have been helpful right now.

"Oh dear, oh dear, " Jo wailed hysterically, clutching her ears. The gunfire was deafening, and worse still, the jeeps were getting closer. She suspected - no, she _knew_ \- that the chemical company would have sent them...the chemical company who's factory she and Santiago had sabotaged. And justly so - the company had been cutting corners with their waste disposal, and it was polluting the poor villages up and down the jungle valley.

With a bone juddering crunch, their car was knocked to the side. Jo heard the metal splinter just inches from her head, and buried her face in the grimy carpeted floor of the car. An assortment of old wrappers and litter was stuck to the carpet underneath the passenger seat.

Ramirez swore and gripped the wheel - one of the jeeps was level with them now, and had just attempted to ram them off the road. He dug around in the side compartment on the car door and brought out a large revolver.

"Returning fire." he told Jo and Santiago grimly. He put two bullets through the window. Jo didn't see where they went, but heard the nasty squeak of tires spinning out of control on the road. There was a nasty crunch, and Jo thought that the jeep must have come off the road and crashed into a tree. She didn't know if any of the hitmen inside were dead, but her heart sank at the thought that they might be. Jo Jones didn't like violence, and she certainly didn't like the idea of _anybody_ dying, enemy or not.

She didn't like it, because _he_ hadn't liked it. Like a certain dashing captain whom she'd never met, Jo Jones was in the "remember" camp. She remembered it all so well. UNIT. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Yates and Benton. _The Master! And,_ sitting prime place in her heart, the great man himself! The Doctor. The Third Doctor.

Jo chanced a look out of the shattered back window, ignoring Santiago's strangled protests. One of the jeeps had indeed hit a tree. It had been reduced to a crumpled heap of steel, but Jo was relieved to see the two men inside crawling out of the wreckage, badly injured but alive. Ramirez had shot their tires out.

But three of the jeeps were still in play. Santiago dragged his gran back down under cover as another round of bullets came cracking towards the car.

Ramirez gripped the wheel with one hand, his revolver in the other. He quickly glanced away from the road and into the revolver's cylinder chamber. "Six shots left," he said, "I got two for each car."

"Not enough," Santiago whined, clutching his face. One of the gunshots had struck the frame of the window nearest him, and sent a hot spark flying down onto his cheek.

"Any ideas, Ramirez?" Jo called out hopefully.

"Just one," Ramirez replied. "You both trust me?"

"You've never let us down yet, darling." Jo said. "Do it."

"Right." Ramirez was a highly trained former soldier. A highly trained former UNIT soldier, in fact. He concentrated hard on the road - timing was everything now. He glanced back in the mirrors. Two of the jeeps were closing in fast, still firing out of their windows. But the other had hung back, maybe to check on the two men from the first jeep. Ramirez lifted his foot off the accelerator lightly - ever so lightly. He didn't want them to notice him slowing down just yet. But he did need to reduce speed to pull this off. He turned into the very centre of the road, hoping beyond all hope that nobody would be coming the other way anytime soon.

Looking back, he saw exactly what he was hoping for - the two jeeps were pulling to to the left side of the road. Ramirez knew their plan. The closest one would ram him to the right, and then pull forwards. The second one would then ram him clean off the road, with the first one blocking his way forwards. Then, if the crash didn't kill them, the hitmen would get out and shoot them all dead.

Ramirez waited, his face screwed up with concentration. He had to time this _perfectly_. Too early and he'd be a sitting duck. Too late and he'd be rammed, just as they intended. It had to be _just right._ He held his breath, every nerve of his body screaming at him to act. He ignored that. All his focus was on the position of the jeeps. The first one was pulling up close now...any second it would move in to ram him. He had to wait...just a little longer...a second longer.

Then, just as the jeep moved in, Ramirez slammed the brakes on, hard. The wheels screeched and his seatbelt tightened horribly against his slumped body. Jo and Santiago screamed in the back. The jeep went sailing past Ramirez's car. It was in front of him, which was exactly where he'd wanted it. With two perfect shots, he destroyed the tires on the jeep's exposed rear wheels. The second jeep, unable to brake in time, also went skidding past his car. Ramirez put a bullet in each of their back tires as well. Then, slamming on the gas and yanking the wheel round to full lock, he span the car around and drove off in the direction they'd come in. The hitmen had gotten out of their cars and were firing yet more shots at the car, but there was nothing else they could do. They couldn't chase them on foot.

That left one.

The fourth and final jeep was driving at them. _At_ them. Ramirez bit his lip. These were hitmen, not fanatics. If they'd been fanatics, he would have had to kill them both, for they would surely have crashed into them hard, sacrificing themselves to kill him and his passengers. But common thugs weren't like that. They didn't want to die. They wanted to get paid. Which meant that they would pull out at the last moment...right?

Possibly.

Ramirez picked up speed. He could see two faces in the front window. He was sure he could kill them...he was a good enough shot...one of them would have to chicken out, or _all_ of them would be killed in a blood-curdling crunch, as two high-speed hunks of metal smashed into each other head-on. _Somebody_ had to give...

And it was them. Just as Ramirez had hoped, the jeep swerved out of his way at the last second, and went skidding into the undergrowth. These men were not as lucky as their colleagues - the jeep hit a tree, like the first one, but then went tumbling uncontrollably down a hill that ran alongside the road. Ramirez had no idea where it would end up, but he doubted that those two men would be getting out alive. If they did, they'd be in a bad way.

Ramirez sighed in relief, mopping his sweaty brow. He uttered a low sob as the adrenaline left his body, leaving him with only a numb sense of shock.

"Is it over?" Jo gasped.

"Yeah," Ramirez said, "they won't be bothering us anymore."

Jo and Santiago sat up shakily, hugging each other.

"Hang on..." Santiago said, looking around, "aren't we going the wrong way now?"

Ramirez shrugged, "we'll take the dirt tracks the long way round. Probably safer off the main roads, in case they call for reinforcements."

"Well done, darling," Jo gasped, clutching her chest. "I'm _too old_ for this sort of thing!"

Ramirez laughed shakily, "your obviously hurting them, Jo. They sent a death squad after you!"

Despite herself, Jo felt a glowing sense of pride. Yes - her antics _had_ been hurting the chemical company, hurting them in just the right place - the pocket. Goodness knows how much it would cost them to repair their sabotaged factory. What's more, hitmen don't come cheap. But Jo Jones wasn't an unreasonable lady. Her husband had sent several polite letters to the company over the past eighteen months, telling them about the effects their pollution was having on the health of the poor villages, and inviting them to change their ways. He even offered them guidance in how to responsibly handle their waste. They didn't want to know. This sabotage, which in all likelihood would drive them right out of business, was a last resort. It always was. Diplomacy first, action second. That's what _he'd_ taught her.

It had been with the Doctor that Jo had experienced her first car chase. She'd been a young woman back then. But whilst she thought she remembered all of her time with him, there was one missing detail - her encounter with the Other, better known on Earth as Mr. Tomasz Wrench, a suave young man in a white suit. That was back in 1983, three years after he first arrived on Earth. It was just before she met the Other, this car chase...oh, how _scared_ she had been! She and the Doctor had been in Bessie, his old yellow Edwardian roadster. And they were being chased by

* * *

 _some hideous sort of lobster like monster, which had taken on human form. It was coming after them down the country lane in a much faster and much more modern sports car. Jo screamed as the creature rammed the back of Bessie, hard._

 _"Now hold on, old girl!" the Doctor said, patting Bessie's steering wheel. "Just a little bit longer, eh?"_

 _"Doctor, look!" Jo exclaimed. A UNIT truck was about a mile up the lane._

 _The Doctor nodded, "Just stay calm, Jo," he said, "we'll be safe in just a moment."_

 _The Doctor's voice was stern, yet soothing at the same time. She nodded, her throat too tight to say any more. She trusted the Doctor._

 _"Come on, Bessie..." he said softly. "Come on!"_

 _They were rammed again, and Jo heard the spare tire on the back fall off. That was good news - the poor thing got caught under the sports car's wheels. The creature behind the wheel slowed down in alarm as the large tire got trapped underneath it's car. A nasty clattering sound told it that there was some pretty extensive damage under there, so it stepped out of the car and regained it's true form. Good - it_ hated _taking on human form, and it hated being cooped up in that horrible tin box of a vehicle. _ _Jo looked back and screamed yet again. The Doctor jumped, and tutted with annoyance.___

 _ _ _"Jo!" He said, "Please!"___

 _ _ _But Jo ignored him. A hideous sight was scuttling towards them. It wasn't tall - the top of it's shell was level with her waist. But it was wide. It's body was about four meters across, six with it's hideous legs. Worst were the front claws. They jutted out in front of it, two lethal great pink pincers, snapping at the air. A great slab of a tail thumped the ground behind it as it ran. The creature wasn't moving as fast as it had been in the car. But fast enough to keep up with old Bessie.___

 _ _ _But the UNIT van was only a little way ahead now...Jo could see the soldiers leap from the car, rifles pointed at the ghastly thing which was chasing them. Nearly there...nearly...___

 _ _ _The Doctor sped past the UNIT soldiers, and the moment he did, they open fired as one. Bullets struck the lobster, all of them ricocheting off it's armoured shell. It was getting closer...if one of them didn't hit a fatal shot soon, there would be a bloodbath. But the guns didn't work...that shell was too tough!___

 _ _ _But then Jo noticed the mortar crew a few about two hundred yards away across a field. As she watched, they loaded their weapon and fired - a mortar shell flew high into the air, and landed about four yards in front of the lobster. The explosion was so powerful that Jo felt the ground beneath her shudder, nearly knocking her backwards off her feet. The noise hammered her eardrums, making her ears throb with pain. A smell of acrid smoke filled the air, and the lobster crumpled in a heap on the ruined surface of the road. Some of it's legs were gone, and it's shell was cracked, greeny-grey blood oozing from the fissures.___

 _ _ _The soldiers sighed with relief, but the Doctor did not. He looked forlorn. He walked over to the creature, to the horror of all the soldiers.___

 _ _ _"Doctor..." One of them began uncertainly.___

 _ _ _But the Doctor ignored him. He went over and stood above the dying creature, looking down and shaking his head sadly.___

 _ _ _"I'm sorry, old chap," he said sincerely, "you were going to kill us. I didn't want this."___

 _ _ _To Jo's astonishment, the creature spoke - "I was just following orders."___

 _ _ _"I know," the Doctor said. He turned to Jo. "Come on, Jo. Come over. This isn't a monster, you know. It's a Yarvan. It's a soldier."___

 _ _ _"Oh..." Jo said uncertainly, wandering over reluctantly. The Doctor looked back down at the dying creature.___

 _ _ _"I didn't want this." He repeated.___

 _ _ _"Did you know," the Yarvan said, ignoring the Doctor, "that there exists a tradition among my noble race..."___

 _ _ _"Oh?" The Doctor replied, "And what would that be?"___

 _ _ _"When in battle, we fight to the death, and do everything we can to bring about our victory." the creature said. It was slowing down now, taking it's dying breaths, "but when we are truly beaten, we honour our enemy. We accept them as a better. And we offer a dying gift, where we can."___

 _ _ _The Doctor nodded in interest, "I see. I don't expect anything from you, old man."___

 _ _ _"But I have something for you," it replied, "an important gift, one I think you'll thank me for - information."___

 _ _ _"Information?" The Doctor repeated. "What kind of information?"___

 _ _ _"Something that might be of interest to you - did you know that there's another Time Lord here? On Earth?"___

 _ _ _"Oh yes," The Doctor replied at once. "The Master. An old friend of mine."___

 _ _ _"Not him. Somebody else."___

 _ _ _The Doctor looked alarmed, "___ Another _ _ _Time Lord? Who? And how do you know about it?"___

 _ _ _"We know a lot," the Yarvan replied, "take a visit to Mayfair, Doctor. Take a visit..."___

 _ _ _Then, the enormous creature died with a final gurgle.___

 _ _ _"Well, that's over then, huh?" One of the soldiers said.___

 _ _ _The Doctor ignored him, still gazing down at the dead Yarvan.___

 _ _ _"Another Time Lord?" Jo said in amazement.___

 _ _ _The Doctor nodded slowly, "Jo," he began, "how about we take a nice day trip tomorrow?"___

 _ _ _Jo shrugged. "I suppose we should."___


	7. Amy Pond Gets A Shock

**_"We all change. When you think about it, we're all different people all through our lives, and that's okay, that's good, you gotta keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be."_**

 **\- The Eleventh Doctor, The Time of the Doctor, 2013**

* * *

 ** _New York City, 1946_**

* * *

Amy Pond didn't take the news very well. But better than her husband did. He vomited.

Clara and Amy sat awkwardly in the living room of Amy and Rory's expensive New York home, listening to the hideous sounds of Rory being ill upstairs in the bathroom.

Amy wasn't having any physical symptoms, but she was far from all right. She was shocked and disorientated. Clara understood why - she'd created a hideous anomaly in their minds. The Doctor was the reason that they shared this life together, in 20th century New York. They would never have been here if they hadn't met him. And yet, in all the time they'd been here, they hadn't even thought of the Doctor. That simply made no sense! The life they'd built here was down to him (for better and for worse) and yet they had almost forgotten that they ever met him. It was an anomaly. It didn't make sense. And this sudden reminder which Clara had brought was, in effect, scrambling their brains. They'd be just fine, but the initial effects could be pretty rough. As Rory was discovering, hunched over the toilet bowl as his lunch took an emergency exit from his stomach.

"How c...could I have f...forgotten?" Amy said. She was shaking.

"Technically you haven't," Clara said soothingly, "you've never _forgotten_ him. You just haven't thought about him. There's a difference, you know."

"Yeah, but how?" Amy cried. "How and why?"

Clara shrugged. "Wibbly-wobbly..."

"...Timey-wimey" Amy completed the sentence, a smile forming on her lips.

"Right. It's a combination of two things. Time travel has a weird effect on memory. Add a massive great perception filter into the mix, and the result is often exactly this. It just all fades away into the background over time."

"But it's back!" Amy insisted, "I can remember it now! All of it! Every adventure, every new time-line, all of it. The whole thing!"

"All of it?" Clara asked steadily.

"Yeah!" Amy insisted.

"Tom Wrench?"

"Tom...who?"

"Tomasz Wrench," Clara repeated quietly, "do you remember him, Amy?"

Amy thought about it for a moment, but Clara could see the answer in her eyes - the name meant nothing to her. Not yet.

"No." Amy finally conceded. "I don't. Who was he?"

"Scum." Clara spat bitterly, taking Amy by surprise. Clara had seemed so gentle and sweet, but her whole demeanor had changed in the blink of an eye. "He killed my mum, Amy."

"Your kidding?" Amy gasped.

"I wish I was," Clara said, "her and countless others. And it's started again."

"Where?" Amy asked at once. "And when?"

"London, 2020." Clara replied. "Amy...I want you to come with me. Will you? Will you both come?"

"We can't. There's a reason he couldn't come back for us," Amy said, thinking about the last time she saw him for the first time in years, "New York is a sensitive spot. Too much time-travel in too small an area."

"I know," Clara said, "I didn't dare land my Tardis here-"

"-You've got a _Tardis_?" Amy gaped.

"Yeah," Clara said, "it's parked up in space right now. I came down by teleport. Still a bit dodgy, but I had to talk to you."

"Why?" Amy said "what do you hope I can do about this? Why do you want me to come?"

"You encountered Tomasz Wrench. You and a handful of the others. Some of the other people who travelled with the Doctor. We've all got stories to tell, and I think I can make us all remember. If we can remember what happened last time, we might be able to stop Wrench again...or..."

Amy sat up straight. "Or what?" she asked hopefully.

"Well...if we're out of our depth...if we can't do it ourselves..."

"We're gonna call him back?" Amy said, a broad grin spreading across her face. "The Doctor?"

Clara returned the smile, "Yes, Amy. I think it might come to that."

Amy leapt from the couch and raced out into the hallway. It was a tall, airy corridor with wooden floors and smart wallpaper. A proper 30's New York home. She loved it, and she loved her life here. At some level, she wondered if she'd ever see it again if she went. But a chance to see the Doctor again...how could she say no?

Rory was stumbling down the stairs, his face pale and sickly.

"Feeling better?" Amy asked, still grinning.

"A bit, thanks." Rory nodded, swaying on his feet.

"Good. We're going to 2020."

Rory stared at his wife. An assortment of very good questions poured into his mind. Why? How? For how long? Is it safe? Will we get back? Yet somehow, not one of them made the journey from his brain to his mouth. He felt too sick to discuss it. So he asked just one question -

"What, now?"

"Yeah, now." Amy said. "Get your shoes on. I'll explain on the way."

Clara came out into the hallway. "Don't worry about the house," she said, "I can get you back five minutes after we leave, no matter how long it actually takes. Are you both ready?"

Amy nodded enthusiastically. Rory nodded weakly.

"Right." Clara rolled up her sleeve. A teleport bracelet of some sort was attached to her wrist. "Grab hold."

They did. Clara tapped out some sort of code, and with a burst of blue light, the three of them vanished. Back to Clara's Tardis, where Lady Me and Jack Harkness were waiting for them. Soon, they'd be ready to attend their date at the Shard, where Clara hoped that Martha, Ian and Jo would be waiting. Soon. There was one more person to collect.

The Pond household stood empty, still, and quiet. It's owners were already hundreds of miles away in space. Off on another wild adventure in space and time, something they never thought would happen again.

It was lucky for Clara that they didn't remember Tomasz Wrench. If they did, they wouldn't have come. Ever.

* * *

 _"Where are we, then?" Amy asked the Doctor, ignoring the bowl of fish custard perched on the seats._

 _"1999," the Doctor replied at once. "31st December 1999."_

 _"Oh yeah?" Amy said with interest. "Let me guess - turn of the 21st century. We're going to a party, right?"_

 _"Ye-es," the Doctor said beaming, straightening his bow-tie. "Funny really - I've never paid much attention to the 1990's."_

 _"Uh, huh." Amy said dully. "Where we going? London?"_

 _The Doctor nodded. "The Ritz. They're throwing a ball, and we're invited."_

 _"We are?" Rory said, coming into the orange console room through the little passage in the wall._

 _"According to this we are." The Doctor chuckled mischievously, patting the pocket where he kept his psychic paper._

 _Rory whispered something urgently in Amy's ear, and she nodded._

 _"Um...yeah, okay. Doctor - no lemonade this time. Okay?" Amy said firmly._

 _The Doctor's face fell. "But it's not a party without lemonade! Lemonade's cool!"_

 _"Yeah, but overdosing on sugar and nearly crashing into the moon isn't." Rory muttered smiling slightly. "Come on Doctor, we can't have another night like that."_

 _"Fine," the Doctor said sadly, "under protest!"_

 _"Noted and ignored," Amy grinned, "and change out of that outfit while your at it."_

 _"Oh yes." the Doctor said. "I've got something much better."_

 _A half hour later, the three friends were walking proudly up to the entrance of the Ritz Hotel. Rory in a smart dark dinner suit. Amy in a blue dress, her hair pulled up in a bunch. The Doctor, of course, in his ludicrous black frock coat and top hat, the same getup he'd worn at their wedding reception._

 _"Good evening..." the doorman said, staring at the Doctor's outfit in disbelief. "Sir, this is a formal evening you know. I must say..."_

 _"Ah yes, you want to see my papers," the Doctor exclaimed, thrusting his psychic paper in the doorman's face, "now may we go in?"_

 _The doorman's eyes widened as he read the blank page. "Oh, your Lordship! Certainly, certainly. Go straight in."_

 _"Thankyou!" the Doctor exclaimed heartily, rushing through the door. "Oh yes - my plus ones. Lady Pond of Leadworth and Sir Williams of...erm...Leadworth also."_

 _The doorman greeted them warmly and allowed them to follow the Doctor into the hotel. The reception was a grand cavernous room, with a red carpet and a huge chandelier. The reception was polished bronze, so polished it looked gold. Men and women in smart suits walked around offering snacks and drinks to the guests._

 _Rory whistled. "What a place."_

 _"Yeah. I chose this pattern, you know." the Doctor said proudly, pointing down at the patterned red carpet they were walking on. "Good choice? Bad choice? Bit too fancy?"_

 _"Good choice," Amy laughed, "now where's the ballroom?"_

 _"Just down past reception. Come along Ponds, I really need a dance!" the Doctor exclaimed, rushing on ahead of them._

 _Amy and Rory looked at each other, grinning broadly. They loved the Doctor, especially at times like this. The places he took them to! Anywhere and everywhere, however big or small their requests. Be it fish and chips at Southend, or a grand four course meal with the King of the Seventh Galaxy. Anything they wanted. Oh yeah, they got into huge amounts of trouble sometimes. But when things were good, they were_ good _. Really good. It was always nice having River along too, seldom though they saw her. They didn't yet know who she was - at this point in their timeline, they were still some months from that shocking revelation._

 _And now this - celebrating the start of the 21st century at the grandest hotel in London! What a thing! The Ponds linked arms and followed the Doctor into the ballroom, smiling all the way._

 _None of them - not the Doctor, and not the Ponds - noticed the young man with the shaved head. He was dressed in his usual crisp white suit, and he was sipping a glass of champagne. The Other liked his comforts. He hadn't been here tonight with the intention of doing any harm. Just some good drinks, and_ maybe _a little bit of late-night fun with one of the primitives here. All humans were primitives to the Other. But he had been in a good mood tonight. His plan was still four to five years from being ready. He was working hard, but there was a long way to go. This was his night off._

 _That changed when the idiot in the top hat came through the door._

 _The Other recognized him straight away, although he again looked different. The Other still looked the same, and the Doctor would have recognized him. If he remembered anything at all about his previous meetings with him. Which he didn't. But he should have been able to sense the Other's presence - Time Lords can sense one another like that. But not when one of them was shrouded in an extremely powerful perception filter._

 _In short, the Doctor had walked straight past a deadly enemy without having any idea of who he was, and no clue that he'd met him four times before._

 _"Sir? Cavier?" The Other snapped out of his trance - a little waiter was waving a plate of little fish eggs at him._

 _"No. Get out of my way." He said in his silky, unpleasant voice. He pushed past the waiter and loosely followed the Doctor and his two new friends. Goodness, he_ always _had someone different with him! Already, a plan was coming into his head. The night off was cancelled. This was a battleground as of now, and only he knew it. He had a score to settle with the Doctor, and it was going to be settled tonight._

 _He didn't dare go to the Doctor directly. Suppose, just suppose, that he somehow remembered who he was, and what had happened between them in the past? Suppose, just suppose mind you, that he recognized Mr. Tomasz Wrench's face? What then?_

 _No. Too risky. But those other two...he'd never seen_ them _before. He'd go for them first. Then, when the Doctor came looking for his friends..._

 _The Other smiled. Let battle commence, he thought happily._

 _The Doctor, Amy and Rory were in more danger than they could possibly imagine. But by now, they were all busy dancing, happily unaware of what the night would bring..._


	8. Jamie McRimmon Gets A Rendezvous

**_"There are some corners of the universe which have bred the most terrible things. Things which act against everything we believe in. They must be fought."_**

 **\- The Second Doctor, The Moonbase Part 2, 1967**

* * *

 ** _The Scottish Highlands, 1749_**

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

Clara looked up at once, and leapt to her feet, slamming on the scanner.

"Come on, come on," she moaned, as it slowly loaded up, " _work_!"

Lady Me joined her, "it's gotta be him, Clara. Who else would it be?"

"Just wait!" Clara insisted. A previous adventure had seen her mistakenly let a Graske on board, and she and Lady Me had spent seven hours trying to find it. They didn't manage, their Tardis was too vast. It only came out of hiding because it was hungry.

Finally, the little screen flickered and revealed what was outside - they were parked on a hill in the Scottish Highlands, and it was the height of winter. Freezing gusts of wind were hammering into their Tardis (which had disguised itself as a small castle) and even inside, Clara could hear the whistling of the powerful winds rushing past. There was no need to worry though. Her Tardis had chosen it's form wisely. A big stone castle doesn't exactly blend in, but it is heavy. There was no danger of the winds knocking them down the hill, not that there would be any damage even if that did happen.

Anyway, Clara adjusted the scope a little and lowered the sight to the entrance. A young man was outside. A handsome young man in a kilt, and several furs. It was Jamie McRimmon all right.

"It's him," Clara yanked the door switch and the big white doors swung open.

The young man walked in, and did a double take. He stared around the white console room with an expression of shock etched onto his face. His mouth opened and closed without any words coming out. Clara, suddenly worried he was going to faint, rushed over and steered him onto one of the chairs.

"Come on, Jamie. Sit yourself down." She patted his arm gently. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, Aye. I'm fine right enough," Jamie said weakly. "It's just like the Tardis! The Doctor's Tardis! It's the same!"

"Yeah, this is the traditional desktop," Clara replied, "just take a moment, and-"

"Capn' Jack Harkness!" Jack bellowed, stepping between Clara and Jamie, his hand outstretched to Jamie, "and _who_ might _you_ be?"

"Wha'? Oh, aye. James Robert McRimmon," Jamie said weakly, shaking Jack's outstretched hand, oblivious to Jack's flirting.

"Stop it," Clara warned Jack sternly.

"Yeah, leave the poor boy alone," Amy laughed. "All right Jamie? I'm Amy! I'm Scottish too."

"Ach, I know tha'" Jamie said, smiling for the first time, "I can hear it in ya voice, so I can." Jamie's accent was notably thicker than Amy's.

Rory looked from Amy to Jamie, suddenly a little jealous. Both Scottish and rhyming names to boot!

"Rory Williams," he announced, also shaking Jamie's hand, "Amy's husband."

"Och," Jamie said, looking slightly crestfallen, "well it's very nice ta mee' you to, sir."

"Isn't it just?" Rory said frostily.

"Anyway..." Clara said, "thanks so much for coming, Jamie."

"Aye, aye," Jamie said, slumped on the seat. "You know something funny?"

"Let me guess," Lady Me said, "you haven't even thought about your time with the Doctor in years?"

Jamie stared at her for a moment. "Aye!" He said finally. "How'd you know?"

"It happens." Clara said shortly. "Now have you given any thought to...what I asked you?"

"I have," Jamie agreed. Clara had written Jamie a letter, asking him to come here and explaining what was happening. She hadn't wanted to approach him as she had Jack and Amy. The Highlands were dangerous in this time period, just following the Battle of Culledon.

"And?"

Jamie shrugged, "I'll come. So long as ya can get me back for later today - I'm having dinner wi' a pretty young lass."

"I can," Clara agreed, "and thanks Jamie."

Jamie shrugged again. "Whatever it is...he'd do it for me. The Doctor - he'd never let me down. I'll not be able to live with meself if I'd let him down."

"So who was your Doctor?" Clara asked, as Jamie got shakily to his feet.

Jamie laughed. "Little man. Funny trousers. Played some little pipe, but he wasn' a piper. Not like me. Met another one too once, so I did. Big guy, hideous coat."

Clara smiled, "yeah. There's been a lot of him over the years. Not always "him" either, from what I understand."

"Our one was barely a "him" to be fair." Rory said, and everyone laughed.

"That's Eleven, right?" Clara said, giggling.

"That's the one," Amy said, "Clara...you came after us, didn't you? What happened to him?"

"He got older," Clara said, "in more ways than one. But he was fine the last time I saw him. Just fine."

"All right," Jamie said, "ya wanted me, and here I am. What say we begin?"

Clara nodded. "All right, yeah. Lady Me? How we looking?"

Lady Me bent over the controls, "Pre-set for 2020. The 10th March 2020. Top floor of the Shard. They should all be there by now, right?"

Clara shrugged, "I hope so. If they all come, that is."

"All right," Lady Me said, fiddling with a few of the switches. "On your go."

"Okay," Clara took a deep breath and smiled. She looked around the vast white room.

"Ready, guys?" she breathed, her grin widening.

"Ready," Amy, Rory, Jack and Jamie said in unison. Everyone was grinning now, in the grip of sheer excitement.

"All right. Lady Me - take us away."

With a final couple of checks, Lady Me pulled the main lever. At once, the room shook and vibrated, and the metallic rasping noise started. The room glowed a brighter white, and the time rotor rose and fell.

Jamie McRimmon's smile was perhaps the widest of all. How he'd missed that noise! The machine lurched, and he gripped the console, careful not to touch any of the levers. The Doctor had always taught him never to touch anything without asking. Press the wrong thing and you could destroy half the galaxy, he would often warn him.

As a matter of fact, they'd been discussing that shortly before touching down in 2010. That was the day when the Doctor finally stopped the Other. For a little while, anyway. Just before landing there, Jamie, the Doctor and Zoe had been in the Tardis, eating lunch. Jamie had noticed a weird little button on the console and had asked the Doctor what it was. The Doctor, painting on his best stern face, had replied

* * *

 _"Now you must never touch that one, Jamie!" That's the fast-return switch._

 _"Oh aye? What's that do then?" Jamie asked._

 _"Well, it allows me to travel back through time at great speed," the Doctor replied, taking a bite from his sandwich, "or it should do, anyway. It's-"_

 _"Lemme guess," Jamie teased, "it's broken."_

 _The Doctor coughed, "Well, erm...as a matter of fact, it is slightly faulty, yes."_

 _Jamie and Zoe Heriot laughed._

 _"I can't_ believe _this thing still works at all!" Zoe exclaimed. "You know, I calculated the odds of a ship this age suffering at least one catastrophic breakdown in it's lifetime - the odds are ten-to-one that it will! You've been very lucky so far."_

 _"Yes,_ thank-you _Zoe," the Doctor said, trying to sound strict, "but I think you'll find that my Tardis is in perfectly good shape!"_

 _Jamie and Zoe exchanged a glance. Then they both burst into laughter._

 _"It is, I assure you!" the Doctor said, affronted. "I concede, there may be one or two minor defects, but..."_

 _"_ Minor defects _?" Zoe repeated incredulously, "you don't know where we're going from one day to the next!"_

 _"Oh? You think so?" the Doctor chuckled, "I've never really_ wanted _to go anywhere in particular, Zoe! I enjoy the surprise!"_

 _Jamie coughed violently, and Zoe was sure that she heard the word "Moonbase" underneath the coughing fit - the Doctor had once attempted to fly to Mars, but had instead landed on the moon, where he had a nasty encounter with the Cybermen. But that was before Zoe's time._

 _The Doctor glared at Jamie, "Oh, very well then," he said, "I shall prove it to you! Give me a place. And a date! I'll get us there."_

 _Jamie simply shrugged, but Zoe's eyes lit up._

 _"_ I've _got an idea!" She said happily, "how about 2012?"_

 _"2012?" The Doctor repeated incredulously. "Oh...2012! Why, yes of course - the Olympic games! My, my, what a wonderful idea!"_

 _"Yes," Zoe said excitedly, "back at home, I used to read about how good it was that year! Can we go there, Doctor?"_

 _"Oh, well I don't see why not!" The Doctor clapped his hands together and peered down at the console before him. He didn't press anything._

 _"Well, go on then!" Jamie urged him, fighting back a laugh._

 _"Quiet, Jamie!" The Doctor said. "I mean, it's simple enough in theory...well, you merely put the location into the computer banks, and set off as normal..."_

 _The Doctor stood nervously over the console, gazing from Zoe to Jamie. Still, he didn't press anything._

 _"Come on then, Doctor." Zoe insisted. "Let's go!"_

 _"Oh...oh, very well," the Doctor said, "off to 2012 it is."_

 _Shortly after this, a metallic throbbing noise cut through Mayfair, and a blue box appeared out of nowhere. There were several people in the vicinity, but none of them so much as glanced up as it appeared._

 _Rather like how nobody looked twice at the old brick Panoptican building._

 _The Doctor, Jamie and Zoe came out of the Tardis, all of them slightly pale. It had been a turbulent flight._

 _"Well, look!" The Doctor said, "I got us there, didn't I! London. Looks to be 2012 to me! Satisfied?"_

 _Zoe didn't reply. A handkerchief was pressed against her mouth - she felt very sick._

 _Jamie wasn't faring much better. "Oh, aye._ What _a place."_

 _The Doctor smiled. Jamie was, of course, a highlander from the 1700's. The modern world was a mystery to him - cars, huge buildings, people in funny clothes, smooth pavements...it was all so alien to him. But the Doctor liked Jamie. Jamie wasn't_ that _bright. Harsh but true. He wasn't an intelligent young man, but he_ was _an adaptable one. Wherever the Doctor took him, Jamie would take it in his stride. Whatever he didn't understand, he had a quite extraordinary ability of transforming it into something he_ could _comprehend. Not everyone could do that. Victoria had been able to. But plenty of people, when introduced to a world so different from anything they can understand, would simply go to pieces. Not Jamie._

 _"Yes, well..." the Doctor said, "let's try and find the Olympic stadium! I'm sure there's someone here willing to tell us...are you all right Zoe?" the Doctor gazed down at her with concern. She looked very ill._

 _She moved the handkerchief from her mouth, "Oh yes...I am now the spinning's stopped."_

 _"Quite," the Doctor said, looking a little guilty. "Well, let's go! Come on!"_

 _He set off at a quick walk down the street. Jamie and Zoe followed suit, Jamie supporting Zoe gently._

 _The Doctor hailed a black cab. The driver was a big man, sporting a huge fuzzy beard and several tattoos._

 _"Sup, buddy. Where you going?"_

 _"The Olympic stadium!" the Doctor beamed._

 _"Sure thing, pal. Hop right in."_

 _"Oh, thank you." The Doctor opened the back door, allowing Jamie and Zoe to climb in ahead of him. He got in and shut the door behind him. "Are we far?"_

 _"Bit of a drive, yeah." The driver said amicably. He eyed the three of them up and down. "Here - you'll be able to pay the fare, right?"_

 _"Oh um...well"_

 _"If you ain't got the right cash, take your business elsewhere. I ain't driving all that way for choccy buttons, you get me?"_

 _The Doctor sighed. "Oh, very well! But could you tell me when the games start?"_

 _The driver frowned. "What?"_

 _"The games! The Olympic games! When are the athletics on?"_

 _"Yeah, buddy...erm...well, in two years."_

 _The Doctor frowned. "But this is 2012!"_

 _"No, chum. It's 2010." the driver said._

 _"What?" The Doctor said weakly. Jamie and Zoe collapsed into laughter._

 _The driver had run out of patience. "Go on, yet out," he told them sternly, "the three of you are making me nervous. I can't be doing with it. Not with everything that's been going on here..."_

 _They didn't argue. The taxi sped off down the road, leaving the three of them wandering aimlessly down the road. It's odd - they delibaratley chose to walk in that direction, or rather the Doctor chose to. Perhaps he knew...perhaps some vague, faint warning was calling out to him. Either way, after the cabbie kicked them out, there is to be no doubt about it. The Doctor made a conscious decision to keep walking the way that the cab would have taken them._

 _"Och, well that's just fine," Jamie giggled, "two years early. Nice work Doctor."_

 _"Hmm..." the Doctor said. He wasn't really listening. He gazed down the street, lost in thought._

Something's here, _a little voice in his brilliant mind said. The three friends walked slowly on down the road, passing an old boarded up building. The words "Auditore Da Firenze" hung from a dusty, crumbling sign above the door. The voice in his head spoke again -_ end it! End it! End it! End the harvest!

 _"Doctor? Doctor? Doctor!" Zoe exclaimed, shaking the Doctor out of his daze._

 _"Yes, Zoe?"_

 _"Whatever's the matter? Where are we going anyway? The Tardis is back the other way."_

 _"Yes, dear..." the Doctor said, barely hearing her._

 _"He's sulking!" Jamie teased, chuckling._

 _"Now, shush! Please! Tell me - what did he mean?"_

 _"Who?" Jamie asked, perplexed._

 _"The driver of course! What did he mean "everything that's going on" do you think?"_

 _"I don't know...but I suppose you want to find out, eh Doctor?" Jamie asked, exasperated._

 _The Doctor grinned. "Well, yes! Yes, I don't see why not. No indeed. Come on!"_

 _He didn't tell them the truth - that he was deeply afraid right now. Something was here. Something he'd met only once before, but which had met him five times already. Those meetings were yet to come for the Doctor...but today was it. This was the day that the Doctor stopped the Other's plan. For ten years, anyway. If it had stopped forever, Clara wouldn't have needed to do any of this._

 _The Doctor kept on walking right down the street. Closer to the Panoptican building. Closer to the Other..._


	9. INTERVAL - Meet the Thirtieth Doctor

**_Inside The Tardis_**

* * *

Tricky woke up drenched in cold sweats. She'd been having nightmares again. The Doctor's twenty-ninth regeneration still gave Tricky nightmares, despite the fact that it happened ten years ago.

Tricky had found the memories of it immensely traumatizing, even though it wasn't her who went through it. Well...not yet, anyway. She dreaded her first regeneration every single day. She knew it was better than dying. Of course it was! But after what she'd seen the Doctor go through, the thought of it made her shudder.

She had loved the Twenty-Ninth Doctor. _What_ a woman! Wily old bird. She supposed that she loved the Thirtieth Doctor just the same. After all - when all is said and done, it _was_ the same person. Oh, but how she _missed_ that amazing old woman! She knew that she hadn't really lost her - the Thirtieth Doctor was her! But she was just so different...everything Tricky had come to know and love about the Doctor was just gone, swept away in the blink of an eye.

She'd saved Tricky, in a way. No doubt about it. Tricky (full name Trickxalatlaylunar, but nobody called her that) had been an absolute tearaway. Kicked out of the academy aged just forty. The army didn't want anything to do with her. Tricky was small. Not as small as the Thirtieth Doctor (Tricky still couldn't get her head around the fact she was now larger than the Doctor), but small nonetheless. She couldn't so much as lift a staster. Stupid things were too heavy! So, with no job and no qualifications, she simply gave up. She'd been nothing. A petty criminal, living in the bowels of the Time Lord Citadel.

But then she'd met the Doctor.

The Doctor hat come back to Gallifrey at the behest of the High Council. They liked to have her back from time to time, usually to send her on some highly dangerous fool's errand that nobody else would do. Anyway, it had been on one of these visits that, quite by chance, Tricky had crossed paths with her. The Doctor had decided to visit the Citadel's oldest market at just the same time that Tricky was there pilfering from the stalls.

There is no need to discuss the details of that first meeting. The Twenty-Ninth Doctor is now long gone, and it hadn't exactly started off amicably. Tricky had, in fact, tried to steal from her! But the Doctor had quickly warmed to Tricky. When she left Gallifrey again, having settled whatever businesses needed settling with the High Council, she had taken Tricky with her. So yes. She had saved Tricky. Saved her from a useless existence back on Gallifrey.

And they'd been happy together, travelling through space and time. They were very, very happy together. Two great friends. An old wise-woman and her plucky young sidekick. They were happy. They were good!

But then, the Twenty-Ninth Doctor got ill.

It came as a huge shock to Tricky, although she knew in her hearts that the Doctor would have to regenerate some day. Her body was _ancient_. Overweight as well. That Doctor had been a large woman, even at the very end, when she was so desparatley ill. She ate too much. But when the moment finally came, Tricky was devastated. She knew that the Doctor wasn't truly going - she'd be a bit different, but it would always be her. But it wasn't just that. The Doctor suffered. She was very unwell, and for a long time, the regeneration process simply wasn't kicking in. Sometimes that happens. It usually comes good in the end, but sometimes a Gallifreyan will have a hideous long wait for the process to finally begin.

And Tricky looked after her, as best she could. Truth be told, they should have gone back to Gallifrey. There were hospitals there which would have been able to help the Doctor. But she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted her last breath to be taken inside the Tardis. And, more importantly, she wanted her new self's first breath to be inside the Tardis.

So, after weeks of pain and sickness, the regeneration finally started kicking in. As Tricky had been busy tending to the old Doctor, she suddenly realised that her blotchy, wrinkled hand was glowing faintly orange. The Doctor herself wasn't really aware of what was happening by this time. She was too sick. But over the coming hours, she quickly got much stronger. She woke up, and ate a little. She wasn't recovering, Tricky knew that. The impending regeneration was giving her current body one last boost, before it cured her ailments entirely, and took away everything that she was in the process.

By the time it happened, the Twenty-Ninth Doctor was up and about. She was almost back to normal...that's what broke Tricky's heart the most. She _wasn't_ better, but she _seemed_ better.

Tricky was there. When she went. It happened in the console room. Streams of golden energy erupted from the old Doctor's face and hands, and Tricky stood well back, peering helplessly at her best friend though her fingers. Yes, she was heartbroken. But at that moment, at the moment of the actual change, there was undoubtedly a little bit of excitement thrown into the mix. And she was happy for the Doctor. Sad for herself. Sad to be losing the Twenty-Ninth Doctor. But happy for the Doctor herself. The suffering was over. Finally, over. And then, with this peculiar mix of anguish and relief flooding through Tricky's mind, the light faded. And there, standing in the old Doctor's bedclothes, was somebody new.

Tricky gasped. This new somebody was young. From a human's perspective, she looked to be in her late-twenties, like Tricky. And she was astoundingly beautiful. Her hair was long, thick and a brilliant ginger. Her face was thin, pale and sweet. She had two gorgeous blue eyes. Her nose was thin, and rather pointy. But not so pointy as to look unattractive. In fact, Tricky thought, this minor imperfection somehow made the overall appearance of this new Doctor even more lovely. More _real_ , you might say. She was small and very thin. She looked to be about 5'2 or 5'3. Her frame would have fit comfortably into the Twenty-Ninth Doctor's three times over. Her predecessor's large bedclothes were hanging off her loosely, and she had to keep a hold on the pajama bottoms to keep them from falling down.

This new Doctor lifted her new hands out in front of her. They were young, smooth skinned and rather small. A smile spread over the new Doctor's face, revealing a set of perfect teeth. Tricky felt a surge of relief wash over her. It had worked! And what an amazing result! The Doctor was young, gorgeous and healthy! Her pain was over. Yes, Tricky was sad. But what kind of friend wouldn't be happy right now? The Doctor was better! Grinning broadly, she ran towards the new Doctor and hugged her tightly.

"You made it!" Tricky cried, burying her face in the Doctor's new, orange hair. "How do you feel?"

The Doctor didn't reply.

That was the first sign that something was wrong.

* * *

Tricky threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. She'd been having her fortnightly sleep. Gallifreyans don't sleep much. Four hours every two weeks was plenty for Tricky. The Doctor had slightly more - about eight hours per ten days. Anyway, Tricky didn't like to sleep, because the nightmares always plagued her when she did. She went into her bathroom - a vast tiled white chamber with a swimming pool, Jacuzzi and steam room. She washed and dressed, putting on one of her typically weird outfits from the Tardis wardrobe. A green vest top, skinny jeans, socks with little sheep on them, black trainer wedges and, to finish off, a pair of dungarees. The Doctor had often remarked that the looked funny. Tricky didn't care. She liked Earth clothing, even if her items of choice didn't typically go together. She peered at herself in the mirror, inserting two large hoop earring into her ear lobes, one in each. Tricky was good-looking. She was a bit fuller than the Thirtieth Doctor. Not fat by a long chalk, but definetley not as skinny as the Doctor was. She was too fond of chocolate to be that skinny. Her eyes were large, round and brown. Her hair was a mousy brown, but she had it highlighted a little blonde. Nodding at her reflection, she left her bedroom. It was a fair old walk to the console room. Down the corridor, left past the swimming pool, past the bins, past the medical bay (where the Doctor had spent the final days of her twenty-ninth life) and through the kitchen and living quarters. Doesn't sound far, but everything was spaced out in the Tardis. It took about five minutes at a regular pace.

She strolled into the console room, which was large, airy and white, like it had been in the old days. The Doctor had experimented with different console rooms over the years, but recently (about two-hundred years ago) had reverted back to basics.

The Doctor was standing over the controls, staring into space. She looked worried about something. Tricky was shocked. Her pale face looked clammy and vaguely grey. Her eyes were full of concern.

 _Ay up! What you up to?_ Tricky didn't say that - she transmitted the words to the Doctor telepathically. Time Lords could do that, although they rarely did. It took a lot of mental effort. But then, it wasn't very easy for the Doctor and Tricky to talk verbally either. Not any more.

The Doctor wheeled around, startled. Her beautiful face seemed unusually pale. _Not much. Have a good sleep?_

Tricky nodded her head, smiling. "I'm good! Now what's wrong?" Tricky said the words this time. The Doctor watched the movements of her mouth very carefully.

 _Nothing's wrong!_ She insisted, sending the reply telepathically.

Tricky shook her head. _Don't give me that._ She thought sternly. _You look worried about something. What is it?_

The Doctor shrugged. "It's nothing." This time, she too spoke the words verbally. Only it didn't sound right. Her voice had a strained, muffled quality to it. She had difficulty pronouncing longer words.

After all, it's hard to speak clearly when you can't hear your own voice. And the 30th Doctor _couldn't_ hear her own voice. Nor anybody else's. Not at all. The Thirtieth Doctor was deaf. Almost totally deaf.

They'd first noticed just after the regeneration. When Tricky asked her how she was. Well, as I said, she didn't reply. Tricky was hugging her tightly, and as the Doctor once said, a hug is a good way to hide your face. The Doctor didn't hear Tricky, and didn't see her mouth move. She had no idea she'd spoken.

So Tricky had asked again. And, when she once more received no reply, she asked again. Bemused, she had pulled away from the Doctor, and stared at her beautiful new face. "Doctor," she laughed, "talk to me! What is it?"

But Tricky's laugh had quickly faltered. She saw the Doctor's eyes widen in dismay as she saw Tricky speak to her - she saw it. But she didn't hear it.

"I can't hear," the Doctor moaned. Tricky had gasped in spite of herself. The Doctor's new voice was quiet and muffled, slightly like she was speaking underwater.

Ironically, the regeneration sickness passed very smoothly. The new Doctor was up and about in no time. She chose her new outfit - a long black coat and blouse and a pearl necklace, with smart black trousers and, of course, a pair of bottle green jester shoes, the kind with the toe that curls upwards in a little circle. Tricky had tried to talk her out of her choice of shoes. But then of course, she wore dungarees on a daily basis, so she wasn't really one to talk about strange choices of clothing.

True to form, the Doctor hadn't complained once about her newfound inability to hear. Not once. Instead, she'd insisted that they both learn sign language. That takes a long time for humans of course, but as Gallifreyans, the Doctor and Tricky were something of experts within about two days. She also learned to lip-read. In reality, a deaf human can only lip-read about thirty percent of what someone says, but again, the Doctor was a Time Lady. She could understand quite a bit from looking at someone talk.

But when it was just the two of them, the easiest way of communicating was by telepathy. Not that either of them had been very good at that to begin with. They'd never really had to use it before. But now, ten years into the Thirtieth Doctor's life, they were good at it.

And so, when all is said and done, the Thirtieth Doctor managed just fine. At first, Tricky had sort of assumed that she'd be looking after her a little bit (something she'd have happily done), but that really wasn't the case. The only thing Tricky really did for her was interpret, when she was talking to other people (usually, of course, humans) who couldn't use telepathy. She would speak in sign language. Tricky would translate it for everyone to hear. Then, whatever they said in response, Tricky would translate into sign language. It was easy. But even then, the Doctor didn't exactly _rely_ on Tricky. As I've said, she could lip-read very well, and could indeed talk when she needed to, though often people found it hard to understand her muffled voice. Sign language was easier, but it wasn't essential.

So, yes. They managed fine. The Doctor's was renewed, young and healthy. She was full of life again, more so than Tricky had ever known her to be. She could run much faster, and for much longer (her genie shoes were weirdly good for running in), and that old longing for adventure was back. Everything was good. Apart from one thing. There was just one little problem, which Tricky came to realize fairly quickly.

She didn't like the Thirtieth Doctor.

She felt awful about that, but it was true. She loved her because of who she was. Of who she used to be. She did love her, but she didn't like her much. She'd gotten used to the silence, although that in itself took it's time. The Doctor was so _quiet_ now! People often assumed that she must be deaf before they knew for sure, purely because of how little she said. She'd taken on a dark and brooding nature which the Doctor had simply never had before. And I'm sure you'll agree that the Doctor has been many things in the past, but never quiet.

And she was dazzlingly beautiful. Try as she might, Tricky couldn't quite quash that horrible pang of jealously. She'd been so used to being the pretty one. The Doctor had been the smart old one. She, Tricky, had been the cute one. Yet now, they both looked young and pretty. And the Doctor was as clever as ever, of course. Worse still, a lot of people were strangely drawn to the Doctor. There was something about her weird clothes, her intelligence and her deafness which made her seem somehow mysterious, and interesting to people. Like they couldn't quite put their finger on her, and they liked that fact. Tricky seemed boring by comparison, despite the dungarees. Or maybe because of the dungarees...they weren't entirely flattering.

What hurt most of all was that the Doctor knew how Tricky felt. Of course she did. They were telepathic. And Tricky knew that the Doctor knew. She also knew the worst part - that the Doctor simply didn't care. Not one bit. Whenever she'd been with the Twenty-Ninth Doctor, she'd always felt loved. A warmth had come from the old woman, which was entirely absent in the Thirtieth Doctor. She was reserved, and cold. Tricky knew, deep down, that the Doctor still loved her, and always would. But she didn't show it anymore.

What's more, she was ruthless. Frighteningly ruthless. The previous Doctor had cared for everyone, and on the rare occasions they got into trouble, she would do her utmost to save every single life. This Doctor wasn't like that. Oh, she still cared. Absolutely. She wanted to defeat evil, she wanted to save innocent lives. It's just that she never much cared if a few were lost along the way. She never shed a tear. Unlike her predecessor, she had no qualms about allowing some deaths, if it gave her a better chance of saving more lives down the line...is that wrong? It's a grey area. But the Doctor's cold, flippant attitude sometimes scared Tricky. It upset her.

Well, the result had been this - eventually, about five years ago now, the two of them had a huge row. A huge great telepathic row. Tricky had told her that she wasn't who she used to be. That she was letting people die, often for no good reason. That she was cold, heartless and sometimes even cruel. That she wished she'd never regenerated. The Doctor had replied that she didn't need Tricky, didn't even _want_ Tricky any more. That she would have a much better life without Tricky hanging around, and that she was quite happy to take Tricky back to Gallifrey now, back to her boring little life of petty crime, which was all that she would ever be good for.

Both of the women instantly regretted their comments. Shortly after the showdown, the pair of them were in tears, hugging each other tightly, apologizing over and over again. What followed was an amicable, if slightly strained relationship. They cared for each other very much, and they never spoke of that day again. And so, the adventures had continued.

But not for long - two years ago, the Doctor had decided to retire. She never really explained why. When Tricky asked, she simply murmured excuses about the Tardis being faulty, which although true, had never stopped her before. The two of them still lived on board, but the Tardis was now permanently parked in the city of New Arcadia on Gallifrey. The second city - Tricky had no criminal history here, and the High Council didn't even know that the Doctor was here. Just she way she liked it.

New Arcadia was a smashing place. Smashing. From the wreckage of the original Arcadia, a sprawling metropolis had emerged, a thriving and beautiful structure. The economy was superb. The High Council wasn't constantly breathing down the citizen's necks, like it did in the Capital. The climate was wonderful - it was close to Gallifrey's equator, and thus the summers were hot and the winters were mild. The two of them still lived on board the Tardis, but they sort of did their own thing a bit more, something which had no doubt improved their relationship. Tricky's favourite pastimes were the luxury swimming pools, the movie simulations and the zero-gravity sports centre. The Doctor, being the Doctor, loved the library best of all. In the two years they'd been here, she'd read ten thousand books and five thousand videocasts. She was almost a tenth of the way through the libraries selection. It was a good life.

But now, having just woken up from her nap, Tricky had found the Doctor in a state of obvious distress.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Doctor." Tricky said simply. "It's obvious something is."

The Doctor, squinting to see the movements of Tricky's lips, sighed deeply. _It's nothing, Tricky._

 _Yes it is,_ Tricky thought in reply. _I won't stop asking until you tell me._

 _Just go away._ The Doctor was glaring at her.

Tricky blinked. "Make me."

"There's nothing to worry about," the Doctor mumbled, doing the sign language gestures as well, just for good measure - she knew that her voice didn't always sound very clear.

"Then why are you worried?" Tricky retorted at once. "I can see it in your eyes."

The Doctor groaned in frustration. _You'll think I'm stupid if I tell you._

 _You_ are _stupid. Now what is it?_ She offered the Doctor a little smile, which to her relief, she returned.

 _Well, if you must know...I keep hearing a voice in my head._ The Doctor shrugged.

"A voice?" Tricky laughed. "Yeah, that's me. You do know what, don't you?"

"Not you, idiot," the Doctor giggled, talking and signing at the same time. "Someone else."

Tricky frowned. "Eh?"

"Somebody else. Another voice."

"Are you sure..." Tricky said uselessly, regretting she asked. Of course the Doctor was sure. She didn't get worried easily. And despite trying to make light of it now, Tricky had been the truth in her eyes when she walked into the console room. Something was scaring the Doctor.

 _What's it say?_ Tricky thought.

 _Can't make it out_ Tricky heard the Doctor's thoughts in her mind, _it sounds familiar though..._

 _Your hearing it all the time?_

 _No, no. Just a couple of times today. A woman's voice. Sounds really familiar, but I can't understand the words..._

Tricky stared at the Doctor, knowing that she was still lying. She was sure of it. Just like she was sure that the Doctor's sudden decision to retire to New Arcadia hadn't been anything to do with the Tardis. Something had happened. Something horrible.

In fact, Tricky was right about both of these things. Firstly, the Doctor _was_ lying about being able to understand the voice - she knew perfectly well what it was saying. Just three words, over and over. _Will you come? Will you come? Will you come?_ That voice sounded so scared, so desperate, that it scared the Doctor. The Doctor had tried to respond, tried thinking a response - _where are you? Who are you? What's the matter?_ She even said it out loud. But the voice didn't hear. It never did. Secondly, Tricky was right that something terrible had happened, something so terrible that the Doctor had given up her adventures on the spot. But she never wanted to tell Tricky about that.

"Well, Doctor," Tricky said aloud, "if it carries on, you'll have to see somebody."

"Like who? A Doctor?" The Thirtieth Doctor had an odd sense of humour.

Tricky gave up at this point - the Doctor was being delibaratley deceptive, and she wasn't going to tell her anything else until it suited her to do so. Which might be never. She only knew one thing for sure - she had caught the Doctor looking worried and, more importantly, standing by the console...she hadn't touched the console in months now. They never went anywhere. But today, it seemed as though she'd been thinking of doing something...taking a journey, maybe? Tricky felt excited. She had a hunch that maybe, just maybe, there was another adventure around the corner...

There was something coming, sure enough. Something that would, in time, cost Tricky her first life. But she didn't know that at the time. Bidding the Doctor farewell, she went back to her bedroom. She'd been planning to go out, but she was reluctant to now. Just in case the Doctor was planning an adventure...

Oh, she would love that!


	10. Dinner At Altitude

**_The Shard, April 10th 2020_**

/

Jo sipped a glass of champagne delicately, gazing out over the skyline of London. She was exhausted - she'd gotten out of Brazil by the skin of her teeth, and the flight back to the UK had been turbulent. She hadn't slept in about thirty hours, and she rather feared it would be several hours before she'd next get the opportunity.

Still, the view snapped her out of it for a moment. What a view it was. It was early evening, and dusk was gently settling over London. Clara Oswald had hired out the viewing decks of the Shard (yes, both of them) just for their party. Jo didn't like to imagine how much that cost. The night was clear, and Jo could see almost every inch of the capital. Below, people bustled around like ants, and the trains slithered along like little worms. Everything looked so small! It was beautiful. Almost. To her dismay, Jo could see the faint mist of pollution in the air. Yes, the sight was beautiful. It was also poisonous. The whole metropolis was dripping carbon into the atmosphere on a daily basis, harming the wildlife and slowly eroding the Ozone layer. _Humans_ , Jo thought to herself, sipping her drink and staring down at the sprawl below her. Look at what we've done to our planet. Our good deeds are good, but our bad deeds are abominable.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Ian Chesterton said, joining Jo. He held a glass of beer. "I lived here for most of my life. It's changed so much."

"Yes," Jo agreed, taking another sip of her drink, "it's special all right darling. Not my kind of thing though - a life in the country suits me better."

"Oh? So tell me - how far did you come for this? I came from Cambridgeshire."

Jo laughed. "Brazil."

"Brazil?" Ian repeated, his mouth hanging open. His teeth were good for a man his age, and Jo wondered if they were his own or not. "You came from Brazil for this?"

Jo nodded, "I did. And you know what, I didn't even have to think about it."

"I'm about the same," Ian agreed. "I upset a lot of people in order to make this journey. You know what's weird though - I'm sure the Doctor is still alive. He was old when I knew him, but I just _know_ he's still out there."

"Oh yes," Jo giggled, "you might be in for a bit of a shock if he does show up, dear."

The pair of them heard footsteps on the stairwell, in the centre of the Shard. There were in fact two viewing platforms - the lower one, containing a bar, some built-in binoculars and a little coffee shop. But there was also a higher platform, where Jo and Ian now stood. This platform was partly open (there were small holes high up in the glass windows, allowing the high altitude breeze to come in) and was decorated to mark each season. Ian had once visited on a day-trip with the care home. That had been in December, about four years ago. The second platform had been decorated with fake snow, icicles and Christmas decorations. Now, in early April, synthetic grass had been laid, and little plastic flowers were stuffed in clusters here and there. They gave Jo the shivers, those plastic flowers. For good reason - they had been a weapon of choice of the Nestene Consciousness, oh so long ago.

They both turned around, and saw two people climbing the stairs to join them. They were younger than both Ian and Jo. The man was athletically built, with dark skin and a short afro hairstyle. The woman was very pretty, black like the man, but her hair was straightened and tied back in a spiky bun. She wore a green leather jacket which revealed a trim figure. They both sported wedding rings, and from the way they stood together, Jo guessed that they must be a married couple. Could this be Amy and Rory, she wondered? The last time she'd met the Doctor (that strange, baby-faced man in the bow-tie), he'd mentioned that he had a married couple on board...

"Hello darlings!" Jo said merrily, hugging them and kissing them on each cheek. They identified themselves as Mickey and Martha Smith, not Amy and Rory. Ian shook hands genially with the pair of them, asking them how their journey was, and inviting them over to the window to see the view.

The pair of them whistled, "Blimey," Mickey said quietly, " _look_ at that!"

For an hour or so, the four of them sat at a little table beside the window, swapping stories - Ian told them of Sensorites, and Voord. Of the Crusades and the Aztecs. Of the Daleks (inducing a shudder from everybody in the room) and of cavemen. Jo had more to talk about, and took up at least thirty minutes of that hour. She talked a lot. Draconians, the Master (here, Martha alone shuddered), Axons and Drashigs to name a few. Jo remembered the most out of all of them, and as such it was a long time before she'd finished. That left Mickey and Martha a little while to go over some of the more memorable points of their own times - Cyberman, Sontarans, Krillitanes and Shakespeare to name a few. None of them mentioned the Other.

Ian had listened to all of this with growing interest. There was something which confused him - the way that Jo had described the Doctor and his behaviour simply didn't match up to the old man he'd known. Then, when Mickey had described knowing two Doctor's, Ian had become totally lost. Polite as ever, he waited for Mickey and Martha to finish their stories with a grand finale - defeating Davros, before speaking up.

"So tell me," he said softly to Mickey, "what did you mean by two Doctors? Because I can't attribute any of what you three have told me to the man I knew..."

"Regeneration," Mickey said at once, "he changes. When he's injured, or old or ill...he doesn't die. His body dies, but the moment is prepared for - he gets a brand new body. A brand new life."

"Fascinating," Ian whispered, "to think, that the old man I knew was...well, young in a strange way. He might look younger than me now, if he is still alive. What an interesting reversal..."

The conversation lapsed into friendly silence - there was plenty more to say, but now they were all feeling tired. It was late, now fully dark outside. Martha glanced at her watch - a five to eight. If Clara was on time, they had about five minutes...

"Come on then," she said suddenly, "what do you reckon this is about? It's obviously not just a reunion..."

"It's obvious babe," Mickey blurted out, "whatever happened, it's started again. Somehow, bringing us all together can...well, help somehow...I guess."

"Thanks Mickey." Martha said sarcastically.

Suddenly, they stopped. Their glasses, which were perched on the little table, were vibrating and shaking on the polished marble surface. As the four of them watched the shaking, a low metallic throb started to sound...Ian gasped aloud, as the sound he hadn't heard in over fifty years started filled his ears - the sound of the Tardis. The sound of time being torn gently apart, allowing something to pass through...

That something was slowly appearing, fading in and out of existence on the Shard's viewing platform. Not a police box. Not even a diner. A refrigerator appeared before the group, a bit silver refrigerator like the ones in which they stored the drinks on the lower platform.

"Is it him?" Ian gasped, leaping to his feet with the speed of a man a fraction of his age.

"I dunno, dear." Jo said, looking equally excited, "he's finally got the silly chameleon circuit fixed if so."

The fridge door opened and a man walked out. A handsome man in a blue trench coat. Ian and Jo looked hopeful, but Martha and Mickey just burst into laughter.

"Jack!" They yelled at the same time, rushing over to him. He threw his arms around the pair, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks (here, Mickey drew away slightly, smiling just the same). A number of other people came out, none of which any of them recognized. There was another married couple, which this time Jo correctly deduced were Amy and Rory. There was man in a kilt and a teenage girl with brown hair. Lastly came a short, younger woman with a very round, pretty face. Clara Oswald. Ian recognized her at once.

"Thanks for coming," Clara said solemnly after they'd all introduced themselves, "I know it's a big ask, but I thought you'd all probably come."

"A quick question, dear... you remember me, don't you?" Ian asked Clara.

"I do."

"Well...you died about five years ago. How...are you here?"

Clara smiled, "long story. I'll get round to telling it a little later maybe. But we've got more pressing matters to deal with."

"But..."

Clara raised her hand, and everyone fell silent. There was something about her which made her seem somehow older than her years...older, and more authoritative. There was something on her face which told everyone present that she was in charge, somehow...she'd brought them all together again. But for what? Why?

"Let's eat," she said simply, "I've arranged a buffet dinner. We'll talk more afterwards."

They traipsed down to the lower balcony, where a buffet had indeed been laid out along a table. The tablecloth was crisp and white, the food served in delicate glass bowls. They ate standing up, all of them talking enthusiastically. The more they spoke, the more they remembered (those for which remembering had been a problem), each of them becoming more and more animated as the conversation went on. There was a lot of common ground. All of them, for example, had battled the Daleks. Jamie and Mickey spoke at length about the Cybermen, comparing stories. Jamie, Mickey thought, was weirdly at ease. He was a man from the 1700's. Yet here he was, standing high, high above modern day London in a tower of glass. He seemed fine. Interested, but not scared. Not uneasy at all. In contrast, Jack was oddly disinterested in the view. But then, a man from the future would likely have seen much better than little old London, right?

It was only after the dessert plates had been cleared away that Clara finally sat them down to discuss the thing which had brought them all together like this.

"All right," she began reluctantly, as they stood around her in a large semi-circle, "as I explained on the letters, or the calls or whatever...this isn't pleasant business. Is there anyone here...anyone at all...who has any idea why I called you all here?"

Nobody spoke.

"All right." Clara said. "Don't worry. That's what I expected."

"Come on, Clara." Martha said accusingly. "You've brought us here, please just tell us...we know it's bad. We came anyway."

"You did," Clara agreed, "and I will. Let me tell you a little about the Other..."

The friends glanced at each other, puzzled. The name meant nothing. Literally nothing.

"The Other is a Time Lord," Clara said, "like the Doctor. But not the Doctor. Oh no. He's dangerous. Lethal, in fact. And no longer a "he", for that matter."

"Eh?" Jamie frowned.

"Yeah, latest news is that Tommy Wrench has changed quite a bit." Clara laughed. "He's got you to thank for that, Jamie."

"Oh aye...well er..." Jamie's eyes widened. He didn't have a clue that it had been him who'd killed Thomas "Tomasz" Wrench. But not well enough. He'd come back. As Thomasina. The Other's next form.

"For years, the Other was hidden out in London", Clara explained, "he arrived here in 1980. In 2005, he started killing people. I couldn't tell you why. I don't know. But whatever the reason, he ended up killing over a hundred people. Maybe closer to two-hundred. My mother was the first."

The group looked shocked. Clara ignored them. "All of you, besides Mickey and Lady Me, met him at some time or other. But you all forgot. Most of your memories of travelling with the Doctor are vague to say the least, but meeting the Other is gone. Totally gone."

"And he's back," Rory said quietly, "that's why we are here. He's killing people again?"

Clara nodded gravely. "Right. Started with a couple of drunks, five days ago. Fifteen years _to the day_ since he killed my mother."

"But what can be do?" Jo asked sullenly, not like her usual self. "We can't remember. Even I can't..."

"He was defeated before, he can be again." Clara said. "We need the story. The full story, from start to finish. If we are going to defeat Thomasina, we need to know how we defeated Tomasz. You with me?"

The group shrugged.

"But what makes it harder," Lady Me said suddenly, "is that this all happened out of sync. The first time the Other met the Doctor was with you, Martha. You and the Tenth Doctor. But then the second time, he met the First Doctor and his friends. The Doctor never remembered the meetings either. By the time the Tenth Doctor had that first meeting, he'd already met the Other several times. He had in fact already defeated him, hundreds of years ago. But he always forgot. Does that make any sense at all?

The group shrugged again.

"Yeah, but that doesn't answer Jo's question." Jack said. "How can we help when we can't remember? We _can't_ tell you what happened before. We don't _know_."

"You _do_ know," Clara replied, "you just don't remember. But I can fix that."

"Great!" Amy exclaimed, "so do it, and we'll...no?"

Clara was looking at Amy sadly, "You don't understand...these memories, they aren't good. I can bring them back, but you won't thank me. And it will hurt. Memories pouring back like that, it will hurt."

For a while, nobody spoke. Clara could see that several of them were having second thoughts - in particular, Mickey and Rory. Scared for their wives, not themselves. Although Mickey wouldn't need to go through the process anyway.

It was Ian who broke the silence - "all right. I'm ready. I'll do it."

"Aye," Jamie said. "Me too."

"And me." Martha and Amy said in unison.

Jack and Jo nodded in agreement. Smiling, Clara reached into her jacket pocket, and brought something out. A small golden disc of some sort. There was a glowing green light in the centre.

"Right," she said. "I'm going to ask each of you in turn to look into this. You'll remember. And whatever you remember, tell us. This thing acts as a tape recorder as well, so we can hear it back if need be."

Everyone nodded nervously. Martha's mouth had gone dry. Clara had mentioned that it had been she who had first met the Other...did that mean that...

"Martha," Clara said gently, holding out the disc, "we'll start with you. Are you happy to go through with it?"

"If you ain't, babe, then don't." Mickey muttered urgently. Martha gripped his hand tightly, and looked down at the floor. She nodded her head.

"Yeah?" Clara said.

"Yes," Martha said nervously. "Just do it."

"All right. Mickey, whatever happens, don't interfere. This will be unpleasant, but it's not dangerous. Not at all."

Mickey nodded sullenly. Clara held the disc close to Martha's face.

"Look at the light." She instructed.

Martha did so, and at once began to tense up.

" _I_ _remember_ ," she exclaimed breathlessly, "all of it! Every bit! Everything we did, everywhere we went!"

"Yeah," Clara said, a bite of impatience in her voice, "but what of the Other? Martha? You remember him?"

"I..." Martha's eyes widened in horror. She squeezed Mickey's hand tighter still, and started to hyperventilate.

" _That_...", she whispered, on the verge of tears, "how could I have forgotten _that?_ _How_? It doesn't make sense..."

"It's all right, petal." Jo marched forwards and took Martha's other hand. "Just tell us what you see."

Martha gulped. "All right. This was first time the Doctor met the Other. We were on another world. A big mountain, on a snowy planet. We were captured...and this is what happened..."

* * *

 **Note: Sorry for the delay. All reviews welcome!**


	11. Martha - A Tale Of The Tenth Doctor I

**_The First Encounter: Yaed_**

* * *

 _The Tenth Doctor and Martha walked nervously down the stainless steel corridor, the drone hovering menacingly behind them. It's fake rotors hung above it like wings, and there was a small cannon attached to the bottom. Whoever was controlling it wasn't taking any chances, that's for sure. But what was this place? Dug into the side of a mountain like this? On a planet that was supposed to be devoid of any alien life?_

 _"Are we gonna be all right, Doctor?" Martha asked nervously._

 _"Well...", the Doctor shrugged, "no reason to suppose they want to kill us."_

 _"Famous last words." Martha muttered. The Doctor grinned and held her around the shoulders._

 _"We'll be fine! You know me, I can talk us out of trouble any day. Easy-peasy!"_

 _"If you say so..." Martha muttered._

 _They hadn't seen anyone since arriving in the base. There was the whirring sound of machinery somewhere below them, and they had passed some sort of common room area - a kitchen and living room rolled into one - but they hadn't passed anybody at all. The corridors were deserted. Their only company was the obese, buzzing drone hovering behind them._

 _"Come on then," Martha said, "what's d'you think is going on here? What is this place?"_

 _"Well...", the Doctor licked his finger and held it up in the air. His face fell slightly, "Built by material from Earth. Can tell by the scent. With just a dash of Martian, now isn't that interesting..."_

 _"Very," Martha replied sarcastically, "but you said this planet was deserted?"_

 _"Yeah. It should be. Listen to that...", the Doctor pointed down to the floor, where the whirring noise was coming from, "mining. They're digging." The Doctor looked angry as he said it. He knew that Yaed was not supposed to be mined. It was a protected planet, and it was in breach of galactic law to dig on a protected planet. More than that, it was unethical. Selfish._

 _The pair of them suddenly sound themselves standing outside a large metal bulkhead door. The drone hovered stationary behind them._

 _"What, in here?" The Doctor asked it._

 _"Command: Enter. Enter." The drone said in response._

 _"Okay. But it's ever so slightly locked."_

 _Right on cue, the door opened. Well...it lifted. The whole thing slid up into a slot in the ceiling. The Doctor and Martha walked through into a large control room. It was silver, like the corridors. And finally, there were people! About fifty people in all, sitting at desks. There were banks of computers at each desk, vast panels of keys and switches which they were operating. The Doctor nodded. Oh yes - this was a mining base all right. Here, they were controlling the main drills. A large window, which replaced the entire far wall of the room, gave a spectacular view of the outside. Endless icy-blue mountains spread out into the horizon, the sunlight glittering off each of their summits. Snow was falling very lightly._

 _A man who had been sitting at the largest desk leapt to his feet instantly, and came over to the Doctor and Martha. Martha gasped in spite of herself. He looked human. But he was like no human Martha had ever seen. His muscles were enormous! His arms were thicker than tree trunks, and he was slightly hunched over. Despite that, he must have stood at 6'8 or 6'9. His grey hair was cut short, and his eyes were small, watery and blue, perched above a very large nose. He was incredibly broad, like an exaggerated version of a rugby player. He wasn't human...he couldn't be!_

 _The Doctor, however, burst out laughing. "Ohh, brilliant! Totally wrong of course. You're totally mad, you'll end up killing yourself, but...wow!"_

 _To Martha's relief, the man smiled. "Shut ya' face, stringbean." He grabbed the Doctor's hand and shook it enthusiastically. The Doctor whimpered in pain as his hand was crushed in the gargantuan's own large hand._

 _"Who are you?" Martha asked, gazing up at the man in amazement._

 _"Henry Host, at ya' service." He replied. His voice was deep and booming, bizarrely with a hint of a Liverpool accent._

 _The Doctor chuckled, sighing in relief as the brute released his hand. He shook Martha's, and Martha too winced in pain as her hand was crushed in his grip. Henry Host...what a stupid name. "I'm the Doctor, this is Martha Jones."_

 _"How are you so big?" Martha blurted out, unable to stop herself. The Doctor and Host doubled over into fresh laughter._

 _"Protein," Host replied proudly, kissing his muscles. "Martian protein."_

 _"And lots of it," the Doctor chuckled. "Seriously..."_

 _Host shrugged. "I gotta keep my figure. Now...down to business, me thinks. What in the blazes are you doing here?"_

 _The Doctor stopped laughing. "I could ask you the same. Why are you mining? Don't you know it's illegal to mine here?"_

 _"I do so. Henry said solemnly. "Thing is though...well, we found something. Something fairly special."_

 _The Doctor raised one eyebrow. "Oh yeah. That being?"_

 _Henry Host smiled a sinister smile. "That'd be tellin'."_

 _"Yeah, tell me." The Doctor replied, a strange glint in his eyes. Martha had seen that before. Anger. Well concealed anger, but anger which could burst out at any given moment. Martha could piece together what was happening. This guy was some kind of treasure hunter. Digging on a protected planet. His "something" was no doubt something very rare, which he would sell for a personal profit, no matter the consequences to the planet. That glint in the Doctor's eye said it all - he might have been laughing and joking with the man to try and make the situation safer, but in reality he was angry. And if he didn't like what was happening, he_ would _put a stop to it._

 _Evidently Host felt so too. In spite of his size, he seemed to draw back a little from the Doctor. "It's nothing much...got a blip on the radar, so we thought we'd check and-"_

 _"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you listen here," the Doctor snapped, "I get "blips" all the time, doesn't mean I go digging massive great holes in protected planets!"_

 _Host shrugged. "Oi, Lauren. Come help these two! Show 'em what we found."_

 _A blonde woman stood up from one of the desks and strolled over. "You sure?" She asked. Martha noticed that she had a particularly pained look in her eye when addressing Henry._

 _"Sure I'm sure. This dude is trying to lecture me, can ya believe it! Show 'em what we found. Maybe that'll shut him up."_

 _The Doctor frowned. "I don't think it will." He said simply._

 _"But I do." Henry insisted. "Lauren, if you please?"_

 _"Yeah, of course boss. Both of 'em?"_

 _"Both of them."_

 _"All right," the woman called Lauren said without a smile, "all right. Come on folks. Let me show you what we found."_

* * *

Here, Martha paused. Clara looked at her with concern.

"What's up?" She asked, rather more brusquely than she'd intended. "What happened next?"

"She showed us..." Martha said, her voice far away. "And it made him cry. The Doctor, that is. He actually cried. It meant so much to him, just seeing it."

"But what was it?" Clara insisted.

Taking a deep breath, Martha continued.

* * *

 _The lift took them down, deep under the ground. Lauren didn't speak to them, she stared resolutely at the door of the lift. Finally, the lift came skidding to a halt and the doors clunked open. The Doctor marched out, and to the right._

 _"This way." Lauren said curtly, turning to the left. The Doctor wheeled around and followed her to the left instead._

 _She walked quickly, not speaking to either of them. Martha sped up to chat to try and chat with her._

 _"So...I'm Martha," she said, "nice to meet you."_

 _"Yeah." Lauren said bluntly. "Likewise." And she said no more. Martha gave up._

 _Eventually, they reached a strange room, with a particularly small door._

 _"A troll's house!" the Doctor exclaimed, grinning at the little door. "Why's the door so small?"_

 _"Contamination. We don't...well, we don't really know what it is. Might be radioactive, for all we know."_

 _"Oh, well that's a good start." The Doctor said sarcastically, taking his sonic screwdriver from his pocket. "Open Sesame!"_

 _Rolling her eyes, Lauren planted her hand on a bio-metric scanner beside the door, which swung open instantly. "Go on then."_

 _The Doctor and Martha walked in, Lauren following them sullenly. Martha felt the Doctor stiffen up beside her as they saw what was inside the room. It meant nothing to Martha.  
_

 _"Whaaat?" The Doctor screamed, rushing towards the object.  
_

 _"What?" Martha exclaimed, rushing to keep up with him, "what is it? What?"_

 _The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and scanned the object. Whatever it was, it was small - smaller than Martha had expected. It was mounted on a stand in the centre of the room, and despite it's size, Martha could tell it was valuable. It appeared to be made of gold, and was as round and thin as a CD or a DVD. On the front were some strange markings that Martha didn't recognize. A thin triangle had been cut along the surface of the object._

 _"Oh..." the Doctor picked the item up, ignoring Lauren's cries of protest. "Oh, you beauty..." Martha was astonished to see his big brown eyes welling up with tears._

 _"What is it?" Martha said again._

 _"Yeah," Lauren said. "Go on, tell us."_

 _The Doctor looked at the two women with damp, red eyes. "A Confession Dial," he said solemnly, clutching the object. "This is Time Lord technology. This, Martha, is a Time Lord's will."_

 _With that, he stormed from the room, still clutching the item in his hand. Lauren desparatley chased after him. "Give it back! Give it at once! Oi! Give that to me! You won't get out of here with it, I promise."_

 _But the Doctor didn't attempt to leave the base. Without waiting for the ladies, he took the lift back up to the control room. By the time they had called it back down and followed him up, he was already back in the control room, having a furious argument with Henry Host. Martha could hear their raised voices all the way down the hall. Everyone in the room had stopped work, and were watching the exchange in frightened awe._

 _"This is a will, don't you understand that idiot!" The Doctor bellowed, "What's more, it's Gallifreyan technology. And Gallifrey's gone!"_

 _"Exactly!" Host bellowed back, "rare, and thus valuable, eh? Now give it 'ere!"_

 _The Doctor shook his head, "I'm taking this. This is the last thing I have of home! Don't you get that? It's not for you. Not for anyone."_

 _"Finders keepers," Host laughed. Suddenly, without any warning, he hit the Doctor. Hard. The Doctor spun around on the spot and collapsed in a heap, blood pouring from his nose. Martha gasped and rushed to his side, as Host picked up the dropped confession dial. He pocketed it with a satisfied grin._

 _"Cell block," he ordered with a snap of his fingers. A small, spectacled man got up quickly and grabbed the Doctor by the scruff of the neck. The Doctor rose to his feet unsteadily, looking pale._

 _He seized Martha by the scruff of the neck as well, but Host stopped him. "Nah. Leave the girl. Just take 'im."_

 _"You leave him alone!" Martha screamed, but Host reached out an enormous arm and held her in place. Martha could only watch as he was dragged from the room. She rounded on Henry Host at once. "He's the last of his kind! That's something from his home! You've gotta let him have that! You gotta!"_

 _Host shrugged, "I might do, if he can pay a good price. And I'll decide what a good price is. Now...Lauren."_

 _Martha frowned. Lauren went pale as Henry Host walked up to her, towering over her. She was totally covered by the shadow of the enormous man._

 _"You let 'im take it from the room?"_

 _"I'm...I'm so sorry, Mr. Host." Lauren whispered._

 _"I try my best." Host said gently. Then he punched her in the stomach. Martha gasped and rushed to her aid, but Henry knocked her away with one huge arm. Martha went sprawling to the floor._

 _Lauren cried out and dropped to her knees.  
_

 _"I try my best, you know." Host said quietly, his knee striking her chin. Her head flew upwards, and he lifted her to her feet and slapped her over the face. "I try my best to teach all of you the rules without the need for violence. Isn't that so?"_

 _"Yes," Lauren whimpered._

 _"Good." He dropped her, and she collapsed to the floor. "Then get up, and go back to work."_

 _Lauren didn't need to be asked twice. Everyone in the room was looking resolutely at their screens now, and nobody asked Lauren if she was all right. She too sat down and went straight on with her work._

 _"Right, Martha. Come with me. To my quarters." He said, clutching her shoulder._

 _"You must be mad if you think I'd come with you!" Martha said, wriggling around to try and free herself. She felt sick, sick to her stomach. She'd just witnessed a woman being beaten up by a man about four times her size, and nobody in the room besides her had so much as lifted a finger to stop it._

 _"You are coming," Host growled, his grip tightening painfully._

 _"Doctor!" Martha screamed helplessly, squirming and wriggling to escape from Host._

 _A man sitting at one of the nearby desks suddenly spoke quietly, without looking up. "Just go. It will be better for you to go."_

 _Host nodded slowly. "He speaks the truth, Martha Jones. What will it be? You coming? Or do I need to get angry?"_

 _Martha went._

* * *

Everyone in the Shard felt horribly uncomfortable now. Martha had stopped speaking. Mickey's arm was around her, comforting her. Nobody wanted to ask what happened next. Not even Clara. For several seconds, she couldn't bring herself to do it. But finally, with a dry mouth, she plucked up the courage.

"What happened next, Martha?"

Martha gulped. "It's not...not what you are scared it might be...he didn't...he didn't do anything to me. But he would have, if he'd lived long enough to do it."

"Okay," Clara said, relief flooding her chest (and indeed, that of everyone listening), "but what did happen?"

Martha took a deep breath and continued. "It wasn't looking good. The Doctor was concussed, and in jail. I was stuck with Henry Host. None of the other staff were going to help me...I really thought, this is the end. The last adventure."

Clara nodded. "But?"

"But I was saved. We both were."

"By whom?"

"By the man who came out of that Confession Dial," Martha said simply. "By Tomasz Wrench. He's the reason we got away. You know why? Because he bloody killed everyone. All of them."

"How?"

Martha took another deep breath. "Okay...well we were in his quarters when it happened. He had me trapped, when all of a sudden..."


	12. Martha - A Tale of The Tenth Doctor II

**_Yaed, The First Encounter_**

* * *

 _"You must think," Host said delicately, handing Martha a glass of wine, "that I'm a bit of a bully. Is that so?"_

 _"Yeah." Martha said without hesitation, putting the drink down on the table without taking a sip._

 _"You'd be correct." Host said, downing his own drink. He placed the Confession Dial on his work desk. His quarters were large, set up like a big studio flat. It was all one room, containing a kitchen area, a large bed, and a sofa and dinner table. Thankfully, the bathroom was separate. Host sat down opposite Martha on the wooden dinner table, pouring himself another drink. "Fact is, Miss. Martha Jones, I'm a successful man, and the reason for that is that I don't care about how I treat other people. I take what I want, and thus I reap the rewards. Is that not so?"_

 _"I wouldn't know." Martha murmured. A plan was running through her mind - Host might be large, but was he fast? Martha didn't see how he could be. He was too top heavy. If he ran fast, he'd topple over. Right?_

 _Possibly. Possibly not._

 _So if she could rush the door (which he hadn't locked), then could she outrun him? Possibly. But then what? She didn't know the way to the cells. The people in the control room obviously hated Host, but they were also scared witless of him. But all fifty of them could surely overcome him, couldn't they? No. Martha dismissed the thought from her head. She'd seen it in their eyes - something in them had died, working for Host. She knew that not one of them, not even the man who'd warned her about him, would actually lift a finger in either her or their own defence._

 _"Well then," Host said, pouring himself another glass. "Tell me - why's you really here? You and 'im?"_

 _"We're travellers, that's all." Martha said. She was scared witless herself, but she wasn't going to let it show. Not yet._

 _"Travelers, is that right?" Host said sarcastically. "What's the setup? You his wife? Girlfriend maybe?"_

 _"I'm his friend, all right," Martha snapped, "look...Henry - if you knew anything about the Time Lords...you'd know that he needs that thing. Don't you get it? He's the last of his kind, and that Confession Dial thing is the last bit of home he's got."_

 _Host laughed coldly. "Like I said - if he can pay, I'll gladly give 'im it." He shrugged his impossibly wide shoulders. "Take twenty-million credits. That's my price. Little discount because of the circumstances."_

 _"We haven't got twenty-million credits."_

 _"Oh?" Host's long arm shot out suddenly. Martha yelped and winced, expecting him to hit her. Instead, he grabbed a lock of her hair with a surprisingly gentle grip, and stroked it softly. "Well then...I might take fifteen-million credits. If you are very good to me. How's that sound? You be good to Henry Host, and Henry Host will be good to you."_

 _"We're travellers," Martha said, tears welling up in her eyes. She felt sick. "If...if you let us g-go, then we'll come back with the money. We can get it. We can!"_

 _"Is that right?" Host said softly, "and I would, of course, keep hold of the darn thing until you get back?"_

 _"Yes!"_

 _Host considered, finally letting go of her hair. He downed his second glass and pouring a third. "Your a pretty girl, you know." He grabbed her hand in his. "I like pretty girls. All right - deal's on. You two can go get me fifteen-million credits. You come back with that amount, the Confession Dials' his to keep."_

 _"Okay." Martha said, shaking uncontrollably. Host wasn't letting go of her hand._

 _"I think you are forgetting a key detail - I agreed fifteen providing you were very nice to me. Is that not so?"_

 _"Please..." Martha whimpered, "please don't...just let me go!"_

 _He shook his head from side to side softly. "In a little while...hey, drink your wine!" Host suddenly demanded, noticing Martha's full glass._

 _"No." Martha said._

 _Host smiled a warm smile, and got to his feet. Martha cowered below him. "I insist," he said dangerously, still smiling gently at her. "Drink up!"_

 _Martha considered her options again - he hadn't spiked it. Martha knew, because she'd watched him pour them both. But then, it smelled strong. Incredibly strong. Obviously not strong enough to have much effect on a huge man like him, but strong enough to give a normal sized woman like her a colossal hangover, perhaps...it might send her to sleep. And she knew what would happen in that case._

 _Strong but slow..._

 _Martha picked up the wineglass, but didn't bring it to her lips. She wasn't going to let this over-sized scumbag treat her like this. Not her. She brought her wine glass crashing down on Host's table. It smashed into about a dozen jagged pieces, cutting her hand. But that didn't matter. All that remained of the neck of the glass was a long, jagged needle. A needle which went straight into Host's leg._

 _Host cried out in alarm and pain, which quickly turned into a howl of fury. Martha leapt to her feet and tried to rush for the open door...but she'd been wrong. Host was as quick as he was large. With a cry of dismay, she felt his hand close over her neck, and lift her into the air. In a blind rage, he threw her. He threw her at his work desk, hoping she'd crack her skull on his computer screen. And well she might, if she'd been thrown with a little less force. Instead, she hit the cool metal wall and collapsed on top of the desk itself. Warm blood flowed from a wound on her head._

 _Before she could so much as register what had happened, Henry Host had grabbed her again. He threw her again, this time onto his bed. The soft landing did nothing for the sheer sense of helplessness and terror which built in Martha's chest._

 _"Doctor..." she moaned helplessly, as Host stood over her._

 _"I tried." he said breathlessly. His voice sounded both excited and aroused. "I tried to teach you without getting violent. Didn't I?" Martha burst into tears. There was nothing she could do..._

 _Except..._

 _The Confession Dial was glowing on the desk behind Host._

 _"Look!" Martha said, the tears stopping at once. "The Confession Dial! Look at it!"_

 _The little golden disc was glowing a brilliant yellow-white, like a little sun. It was blinding to look at. Host had his back to it, but he heard the faint whirring noise it was making. He turned around._

 _"What?" He exclaimed. He wheeled back around and grabbed Martha by the neck. "What did you do? Why's it doing that?"_

 _"I didn't do anything!" Martha protested, remembering how she landed on the desk - and on the Confession Dial. Something had happened, she was sure of it..._

 _Then, without warning, the Confession Dial opened. Part of the casing simply slid away..._

* * *

"And then?" Clara said, feeling sick to her stomach.

Martha shrugged. She was relating the story with surprising calmness. Clara didn't understand how she could do that.

"He came out of it. He saved me."

* * *

 _"What?" Host bellowed as a man appeared through the light. As soon as he appeared, the glowing stopped, and the Confession Dial closed. It was damaged, Martha saw. In his blind fury, Host had thrown Martha onto it, and it had been damaged. There was a crack in the casing._

 _And the result was this..._

 _The man simply stood there, stock still. Taking in his surroundings. He was shaved bald. He sported a little goatee. He wore a crisp white suit, and white shoes to match. He gazed at the two of them - the enormous Henry Host, and Martha, her neck clamped in his hand._

 _"Who the heck are ya?" Host burbled. "What is this?"_

 _"My name is the Other." The man replied. His voice was cold, silky and curt._

 _"The Other is it?" Host released Martha and charged towards the man in the white suit. He wasn't large, this new man. It looked as if Host would flatten him. But that didn't happen. As Host took a swinging punch, the man calmly ducked. His shoes were quite pointy, and with the reflexes of a Cheetah, the man planted the point of his shoe into Henry's leg - the exact spot that Martha had stabbed. This time, Host screamed at the top of his lungs - the shoe went right into the open wound, widening it substantially._

 _Host dropped to his knees, and threw another swinging punch. The Other again ducked it calmly. He gazed at Host with cold hatred. Even on his knees, Henry Host wasn't much lower down than the Other._

 _Martha ran. She leapt from the bed, and raced past the brawling men, heading out of the door. She heard a loud smashing noise. The Other had broken the bottle of wine over Host's head, showering the man with wine. Martha watched as the Other, grabbing Henry's dazed head, began to drag the jagged remains of the bottle across (and into) Host's neck. Host screamed like an animal. Martha saw the angry red slit running deeply across his neck, and knew he was done. She ran, the dying screams of Henry Host burning her ears._

 _She needed to find the Doctor!_

* * *

"Hurray!" Jamie suddenly cheered, making everyone jump.

Ian stared at him, "do you mind, young man?"

"Aye, I'm sorry," Jamie said, turning red, "but he deserved it. Deserved what he got, he did."

"That's as maybe," Jack chuckled, "but let the lady finish, handsome. Go on, Martha - how did you find the Doctor?"

"In the end it was easy." Martha said. "This is the Doctor we're talking about, folks. You think he just sat around waiting for me to rescue him? He was already there in the control room when I got back."

Everyone laughed. Even Mickey, who was looking extremely upset.

"Course he was," Jack bellowed, thumping Jamie on the back.

"Yeah," Martha said, and she was surprised to find herself laughing too. "Well, there's more to tell. It's not nice. I ran back into the control room, and"

* * *

 _The Doctor was there, shouting his mouth off. Lauren, the woman from earlier, was trying to talk him down._

 _"Just let him try and stand in my way! All of you, stop working and pack your bags. First, I'm going to get the Confession Dial. Then, I'm going to end this facility. Right here, right now! You hear me? Pack a bag and go."_

 _"If you know what's good for your friend, you'll go back to jail," Lauren said in response, "trust me, she will not thank you for making him angry. She...Martha!"_

 _The Doctor wheeled around. His face split into a broad grin._

 _"Martha!" He exclaimed, rushing over to her. They hugged each other tightly._

 _"How did you get out?" Martha laughed._

 _"Well," the Doctor said, "that would be telling, as our horrible Host, Host said not so long ago. Hold on...Martha, are you all right?" He suddenly looked down into her red eyes, noticed the tear streaks on her face, and the traumatized look on her face._

 _"I'm fine," Martha lied, "but listen - that dial...Doctor, Host's dead. Someone came out of it, and killed him!"_

 _The crew only heard the first part - Host was dead. A cheer erupted in the room, a deafening scream of relief and victory. But the Doctor didn't cheer, and nor did Martha. The Doctor was staring at Martha, shaking._

 _"Someone came out of it..." he said weakly, "out of the Confession Dial?"_

 _"Yeah," Martha said. "Doctor...does that mean that...was that another Time Lord? It was, wasn't it?"_

 _The Doctor didn't reply. He was gazing at something behind Martha, his mouth hung open._

 _Martha slowly turned around, knowing what she'd see. The man stood in the doorway behind her, his white suit stained red with blood. He held his cracked Confession Dial, a nasty smile on his face. His gaze travelled from the Doctor, and across the room._

 _"I require a ship," he said slowly, his voice dripping with contempt for everyone in the room. "Somebody arrange it."_

 _"Who are you?" Lauren gasped, unable to take her eyes from his bloodstained clothes._

 _"My name," he replied, "is the Other."_

 _"No," the Doctor blurted out suddenly. The Other turned to look at him again._

 _"No, you can't be..." he murmured. Martha stared at the Doctor - he was speechless. Here, totally out of the blue, was another Time Lord. Finally, against all odds, he wasn't alone. He wasn't the last of his kind! Of course, in mere weeks he would encounter the Master, his evil old friend and fellow Time Lord whom he had presumed dead. In a few hundred more years, he'd discover that Gallifrey wasn't as gone as he'd thought it had was. But of course, neither he nor Martha knew that at the time. At this point, the Doctor firmly believed himself to be last of his kind. Yet now, standing before him, was someone else! The Other! Another Time Lord._

 _But the Doctor didn't look pleased. He looked terrified._

 _"It can't be you..." he muttered again._

 _"Can't it?" the Other said, without interest. "If you say so. Oh, but you are a Time Lord as well! Why do you associate yourself with these creatures? Have you no shame?"_

 _"Look," the Doctor said slowly, "I dunno how long you've been asleep in that dial, but everything's changed. Everything. Gallifrey, it's not..."_

 _"Silence!" the Other hissed, and to Martha's amazement the Doctor fell silent at once. Then she saw why - the Other was holding a gun. Goodness knows where he'd got it from...maybe from Host's quarters. He was pointing it at Lauren._

 _"You - what spaceships do you have? You look to be in charge here."_

 _"I...there's a Minnow?"_

 _"A Minnow," the Other repeated. "Location?"_

 _"Bottom level of the base..."_

 _Then, as soon as he had the answer, and without any warning whatsoever, he fired the shot. Lauren's body exploded into dust instantly, and chaos ensued - everyone leapt from their seats and tried to scrabble for the door._

 _"No!" the Doctor bellowed as the Other open fired - the little gun was fully automatic, spitting out blue lasers at a rate of two to three a second. Martha had never seen anything like it. The Other had impeccable aim. The Doctor rushed him, desperate to stop the slaughter, but each time he got within an inch, the Other would fire a shot at the ground near the Doctor, driving him back._

 _"Stop!" the Doctor screamed helplessly._

 _But he didn't. One by one, the staff were disintegrated on the spot, barely having time to cry out. It was all over in thirty seconds. The room was empty. There were three of them left. The Doctor, Martha and the Other._

 _"And you..." the Other said quietly, waving the gun at the Doctor and Martha, "what to do with you?"_

 _"Why did you do that?" the Doctor shouted, taking two steps towards him.  
_

 _"Because I could. Worthless creatures, all of them. But don't avoid the pressing question...what am I to do with you?"_

 _"Your a monster..." Martha said helplessly._

 _"Oh?" the Other raised the gun at Martha, but the Doctor stood in between them both._

 _"You'll have to shoot through me to kill her," he said, "and if you do that, you'll be alone. Last of the Time Lords. How about that?"_

 _"What?" the Other said sharply, "Explain! And quickly."_

 _"They're gone," the Doctor said simply. "All of them. Until today, I was alone. Kill me, that burden becomes your's to bear. What will it be?"_

 _"I'll tell you what it will be, Doctor. I'm boarding that Minnow. I'm going to enter Gallifrey's co-ordinates and see it for myself. If you are lying, so help you. If you are telling the truth, so help the universe."_

 _"You aren't going anywhere." the Doctor replied. "You know where we are? Mining facility. A pretty decent build actually. They got a blip, see - your Confession Dial. All this around you was built for the purpose of digging it up. Of digging_ you _up, to sell on for cash. They were basically treasure hunters, the lot of them. Pirates. They've got a Minnow all right. But if you think people like this would own a Minnow which is in a safe and serviceable condition, your even more stupid than you look."_

 _"I was in there so long..." the Other said, entirely changing the subject. "Inside my own Confession Dial. That was my last testament - that I would return. And here I am...but how can they all be gone?"_

 _"I'm sorry." the Doctor said quietly. "I really am. But look...put that down. Put the gun down. Right now, I'm the only man who can help you. I..."_

 _There was the blast of a gun. For one hideous moment, Martha thought that the Doctor had been hit. But no - he was still very much intact. Besides which way, that noise had sounded like a ballistic weapon. Not a laser._

 _It was the cannon. The cannon of the drone which had brought the Doctor and Martha to this hideous place. It had shot the Other, clearly identifying him as a threat. In fury and pain, the Other wheeled around and fired at it, watching in satisfaction as it crashed to the floor and exploded._

 _"I didn't see it..." the Doctor said, rushing to the Other as he collapsed. Martha kicked the gun away, and it skidded along the metal floor of the control room._

 _The Other gulped. The wound in his stomach was bleeding freely. But despite his pain, he managed to throw the Doctor aside as he tried to help. He stood back up. Gripping his Confession Dial, he cackled icily._

 _"I'll find you," he told the Doctor, "if we are all that's left, I will find you..."_

 _"No!" the Doctor screamed again as he realised what the Other was about to do. But it was too late. He opened the Confession Dial and tapped out some sort of code. With that, he vanished along with it in a brilliant yellow light._

 _"Where'd he go?" Martha exclaimed. "Where?"_

 _"Away...but the stupid thing was broken! He could be anywhere. Come on, we might be able to pick up his trail. Back to the Tardis!"_

 _"Let's do it," Martha said, trying hard to keep up with him as they raced from the room. Martha was glad to get away from the place more than anything. She didn't fully appreciate what had been unleashed...nor, really, did the Doctor himself. Not yet._

 _/_

"That's all." Martha said. "It's all I remember." Clara nodded and turned off the light on the little disc.

"Just like that?" Amy exclaimed. "It's stopped?"

"Yeah...weird, huh?"

"I think you'd have forgotten the whole thing when you got back to the Tardis." Clara said. "That's how it seems to work. Maybe the Doctor could have followed the Other. But from the moment he walked into the Tardis, the idea was just gone. As though none of that ever happened."

"I wish it hadn't happened." Martha muttered.

"Anyway," Clara said slowly. "That's it. The first piece of the puzzle. Whatever's happening now, that's how it started. He was dug up, and teleported away after killing everyone. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, "is there any reason he did all that? Like, _why_ did he kill everyone? Why did he hate the Doctor so much?"

As he asked that, a weird thought flitted through Martha's mind, out of nowhere - _even the old man wouldn't help you._

"A great question," Clara asked. "But I can't answer. I think that there's somebody who can though. The Doctor himself. He knew the Other...he knew the legends better than anyone."

"So let's call him!" Amy exclaimed, "let's find a way! We _need_ him." There was a buzz of enthusiastic agreement around the room.

"We will." Clara said. "In time. Let's get our memories back first. The more we remember, the more chance we have of getting rid of Thomasina. For good."

Lady Me nodded. "she's right, team. Let's carry on for now. We now know the start of these events. I think we should move on."

"Right." Clara agreed. "So...the Other teleported away. Where did he go? What happened when he met the Doctor for a second time? Mr. Chesterton...this is where you come in."

"Wonderful." Ian said sarcastically.

"You all right to do it?" Martha asked him. She was worried - the experience had been unpleasant, and she now felt very dizzy. Ian was incredibly old. She was worried about what might happen to him.

"Yes, dear. But I would like to sit down as I do it."

"Of course," Rory instantly grabbed a chair and Ian sat down on it gratefully. His face was scared but determined.

"All right. Okay...I'm ready."

"Here goes," Clara said, a twinge of guilt in her voice. She held the little gold disc to Ian's face and turned the light on.

The old man tensed up at once, and gripped the arms of the seat tightly. "Oh my goodness..." he said weakly, "Sabb-Landon Xavier 1! We crashed, right into a civil war! And he was there. He nearly killed her. He nearly killed Barbara."

Ian gulped. Amy patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay. Keep going."

He nodded. "We crashed...we got separated, as usual. We'd just come out of the Tardis, when all of a sudden..."


	13. Ian - A Fable of the First Doctor I

**_Sabb-Landon Xavier 1, The Second Encounter_**

* * *

 _The creature approached them from from behind, grabbing the Doctor and holding a gun to his neck._

 _"Grandfather!" Susan screamed._

 _"Unhand me this instance, sir! How dare you?" the Doctor growled, catching a glimpse of his captor from the corner of his eye._

 _"Be silent," the creature growled. "Who are you?"_

 _Ian Chesterton (young, dark haired and handsome back then) took a cautious step towards the thing holding the Doctor. He was hideous! Utterly hideous. He was humanoid - two eyes, two arms and two legs. But he was like no human Ian had ever seen. He was malformed, with hideous warts all over his face. His skin was dark and weather beaten. Sabb-Landon Xavier 1 was hot. Scorching hot. But despite the heat, the creature was dressed in a dusty brown camouflage outfit. He wore a brown helmet too._

 _They'd crashed all right, but it wasn't as bad as it might have been. The Tardis, of course, was totally unharmed. They'd come down in a desert valley, and the sand was relatively soft. They were shaken up, a little bruised maybe. But otherwise fine. Glad to be alive! Until this hideous thing had come along, and put a gun to the Doctor._

 _"We're travellers." Ian said reasonably. He prided himself on his calm, reasonable voice. It helped in situations like this. "My name is Ian. This is Barbara. And Susan. That's the Doctor."_

 _"Oh, a Doctor?" the creature said, it's eyes widening. "A doctor of medicine, are you?"_

 _"Oh, well I dabble my friend, I dabble. But I must insist you let me go at once! As you can see, we are quite unarmed."_

 _The creature let go of the Doctor and pushed him roughly forwards. The old Doctor stumbled, and would have fallen if Ian and Susan hadn't caught him by the arms._

 _"We've told you who we are," Barbara said, "now who are you?"_

 _"Gorat," the creature said. "You say you are travellers? You travel in that box?" Gorat looked at the little blue exterior of the Tardis, and then to the four of them._

 _"Well, uh...in a manner of speaking, yes," the Doctor said, "now just what is going on here? Why are you dressed like that? Eh?"_

 _Gorat frowned, his pockmarked skin rippling above his murky eyes. "But you don't know? I understand you've crashed, but I thought everyone knew about the war."_

 _"The war? What war?" the Doctor said sharply._

 _"The civil war, of course!" Gorat exclaimed. "You must know!"_

 _"Must we?" Ian said, puzzled._

 _Gorat shrugged. "I assumed everyone did."_

 _"Oh yes, you'll have to excuse my young friend." the Doctor said hurriedly, thinking quickly - Gorat was looking just a bit too suspicious. "He's somewhat out of the loop. The civil war! Yes, of course. Of course my friend. And I trust that victory will soon be forthcoming, eh?"_

 _Gorat smiled. "Of course."_

 _"Well, good, good!" the Doctor beamed. "Very good. But now, we must bid your farewell Mr. Gorat. We're far too busy, and we certainly don't want to get involved."_

 _He tried to bustle past Gorat, but he didn't get very far._

 _"I'm sorry," Gorat said at once, "but I must insist that you all come with me!"_

 _"Come with you?" Barbara repeated incredulously, "come where?"_

 _"To base camp, of course! We need all the doctors we can get right now. I'll arrange a hovercraft to collect your capsule later. Please - come."_

 _The Doctor shook his head, clutching his lapels. "I'm afraid, my dear friend, that this war is nothing to do with me and my friends. No indeed! However, if there are injured men at your camp, then naturally I should like to offer my assistance. But what about my companions? Can you give me your_ cast iron guarantee _that we will come to no harm?"_

 _Gorat, to everyone's surprise, nodded. "I think so. Providing we can get out of the valley safely. You are needed, and must come to base camp. But your friends may travel on to the citadel! They'd be quite welcome there, and quite safe, I assure you."_

 _"Splendid, splendid," the Doctor said, patting Gorat lightly on the shoulder. "Then we accept - provided you arrange that my ship is also taken to the citadel."_

 _Gorat grinned. His face was less scary when he did that, and Ian saw at once that he was no monster - he looked monstrous to their eyes. He had appeared to be aggressive, but only because he was scared. He wasn't any threat._

 _Ian was proud of the Doctor. They'd been together for...well, the best part of a year now, Ian supposed. And they'd all changed. But nobody more so than the Doctor. The man Ian and Barbara had first met wouldn't have been remotely interested in helping the wounded soldiers at camp. Oh no - he'd have quite happily left, and thought no more about them. He'd changed. He might not have regenerated (his first one was still two years hence), but as a person he'd become better. Their adventures had made him better. In years to come (many years to come), Ian would feel immensely proud of that fact._

 _So they followed Gorat through the valley. Blimey, it was hot!  
_

 _"Oh, I should like a drink." Ian said._

 _"Yes," Susan agreed, "it's so dry! Look at the landscape!"_

 _"Yes, yes," the Doctor said impatiently, struggling up the dune. "Yes my child, there must be very little rainfall. I say! Gorat! Have you any water?"_

 _"Only my own, which is nearly empty. Your welcome to it, but we'll be linking up with the forward patrol before long. They'll have plenty."_

 _So they carried on. The issue was, however, that "before long", as Gorat put it, transpired to be no less than a half-hour hike over the sand, the sun beating down on them. They finally admitted defeat, and shared out the last of Gorat's water between them. Ian took the plastic green bottle last, glad they'd left him a modest amount. Finally, just when Ian was an inch away from complaining, five figures appeared just up ahead. The intensity of the sunlight obscured them. To Ian's horror, he saw that the silhouettes were all pointing guns at them._

 _"Starlight!" one of them called out. It was a secret code._

 _"Starlight, Starbright,"Gorat replied, showing his empty hands - his gun was in his holster. The four friends showed their empty hands as well. To everyone's relief, the figures dropped their guns._

 _"Any trouble, Gorat?" One of them said as the two parties approached each other._

 _"None, Commander," Gorat said. The Commander, like Gorat was astoundingly ugly. His skin was almost grey. His face was a pockmarked mess of warts, moles and blemishes. These creatures weren't human, that's for sure. Human like, but much more coarse._

 _"And these?" The Commander asked, gesturing to the four friends. "Prisoners? They don't look like bees."_

 _"Bees?" Ian replied curiously. Gorat held his hand up, hushing Ian.  
_

 _"No, sir. No, they crashed here as a matter of fact. Now, I would've let them go on their way. But the old one here says he's a doctor."_

 _"A doctor!" the Commander's face lit up. "Is this true?"_

 _"Ehh...well, in a manner of speaking my friend, yes it is! Yes. Now I repeat what I said to Gorat here. I will help your wounded men, but I expect both my friends and my ship to be taken safely to this citadel of your's. Is that clear?"_

 _There was a murmur of surprise among the soldiers. The Commander blinked. "As your terms are reasonable, they will be met. But I feel I should warn you - we are not a race of whom concedes to demands. Nor is your help requested. It is demanded. If you want your freedom, you will help my men. Do we have an understanding?"_

 _The Doctor opened his mouth angrily, but Barbara cut across him. "Yes, sir. We quite understand. All we really demand is that you let us leave once the Doctor has tended to your injured."_

 _"Yes, yes. Now let us continue back to camp. It's not far now, and then-" suddenly, the Commander stopped talking. He went pale. "Get down. All of you. Get down, and not a sound!"_

 _Quickly, the soldiers dropped to the desert floor. Ian and Barbara straight after them. Susan helped the Doctor struggle down onto one knee, then onto his front.  
_

 _"What is it?" Ian hissed in Gorat's ear._

 _"There's a patrol coming. Can't you hear them?"_

 _Ian strained to listen. He couldn't hear anything that indicated a patrol. A light wind, whistling. The buzz of some flies or other insects. But no boots on the ground. No voices. But crikey, those insects were getting loud now. The noise seemed to be getting louder with every passing second..._

 _Then it was Ian's turn to go pale. He understood._

 _"_ Bees _?" He repeated, glancing at Barbara in terror. Barbara swallowed nervously, scanning the sky. Ian did the same. For a moment there was nothing - a sheer, blue stretch of sky above them punctuated only with the occasional wisp of cloud, and of course the sun itself, beating down directly above them._

 _And then he saw them. A low flying black cloud. The cloud was what was making the noise - it buzzed right over their heads, the noise like that of a power drill. Susan whimpered, and the Doctor clutched her around the shoulders gently. There had to be about a million bees up there. Or more? Probably more. And they were big. Ian didn't mind insects, as a rule. He wasn't scared of bumble-bees, or any other insects, even if he didn't especially like them. But massive great Queen bumble-bees set him on edge. They, he reasoned, were just a bit_ too _big for comfort. But these, they were all that size! Or bigger! They moved in perfect synch, and despite the absence of any clear leader, they stayed tightly together, each knowing exactly which direction to fly in._

 _"They'll see us," Gorat whispered to Ian, "but they won't sting, not unless they have to. Our suits are laced with a particularly potent insect repellent. It kills them very slowly. Very painfully."_

 _"I see," Ian said, his heart racing, "so what can they do if they can't sting?"_

 _Gorat laughed without any humour. "Just watch. They're landing just ahead of us. You and your friends need to be ready to run. Go with the Commander. We'll hold them off."_

 _They were indeed landing - the swarm touched down gently on the desert sand. All of them, like some monstrous, living carpet, that would mutilate anyone whom dared to step on it. For a moment, they just sat there. Then, to Ian's astonishment, he realized that they were moving. Crawling towards the group, a vast splodge of black in the yellow sand. Moving in for the kill._

 _Gorat got to his feet. "They'll encircle us, make it impossible for us to escape. Then one of the Queen's arrives. And no amount of insect repellent works on those._

 _Then, as one, the soldiers leapt up next to Gorat, and fired. Their weapons didn't fire bullets or lasers, however. It was a powerful burst of some sort of liquid, which Ian assumed must be the repellent. It slowed the bees down - it didn't stop them.  
_

 _"Go!" Gorat shouted to the Commander. "Take the civilians, and go!"_

 _The Commander didn't need to be asked twice. "Come on!" he yelled, grabbing the Doctor and Susan._

 _"No, we can't just leave them! Susan wailed, as the five soldiers continued to fire, as the carpet of bees scuttled menacingly towards them. Ian watched in horror as one bee - just one - decided that drastic action needed to be taken. It flew up into the air and stung Gorat. Gorat screamed. The bee went haywire, zooming uncontrollably through the sky, as the insect repellent doused over the soldier's uniforms took effect. Ian couldn't help but think that Gorat was making a little bit of a fuss over one bee sting - that surprised him, a tough warrior like him screaming in agony over a bee sting. But then he turned around to face Ian and the others - there was a huge red hole in Gorat's cheek. The skin around it was blistering, and blood was pouring out. The venom was corroding his face._

 _"Just go!" He screamed again._

 _The Doctor grabbed Ian, "he's right, dear boy. There's nothing we can do for them now. Nothing. Now come along!"_

 _So they ran..._

* * *

"They were very brave." Clara remarked.

"They were," Ian agreed. "We managed to get back to the Commander's hovercraft. But we never saw them again. Any of them.

Rory had gone pale. "I'm surprised anyone could forget something like that..." he muttered.

"Oh, I'm not sure I did forget entirely," Ian said, "you see, I'm scared of bees. Have been for years. But I never was before. Not as a boy."

"So what happened, Ian?" Clara asked. "Where did you go after that? To the base camp?"

"Yes," Ian replied, "Me and the Doctor did, anyway. The girls went on to the Citadel. To _him_."

"But you didn't know that." Clara said reasonably. Ian looked upset. Guilty even.

"No, no..." Ian agreed. "But we should never have split up."

"That's as maybe," Clara said, "but tell us what you did. What happened next?"

Ian sighed a shaky sigh. "Those people at the base camp...I'd never seen injuries like them. Ever. Even the Doctor was shocked.

* * *

 _"Terrible. Goodness gracious..." the Doctor stared around the stifling ward at base camp, looking at the injured men. The stings were like nothing Ian had ever seen. It was like all your nightmares rolled into one - the sting punctures. The poison burns right through the skin. Then it makes you ill. All the men were pale and shaky, all with buckets beside their beds.  
_

 _"Doctor..." Ian said slowly._

 _"Yes, my boy? What is it?"_

 _"You...you_ aren't _a doctor of medicine, are you?"_

 _The Doctor clutched his lapels and sighed. "Well no, my dear boy. No I'm not. But I uh...I...well I pride myself on knowing er...I do have some knowledge in making people well again, hmm?"_

 _"Yes, Doctor." Ian said. "But I think the Commander is expecting you to be an expert."  
_

 _"Yes, indeed. I'm afraid I must confess, I've dug us into rather a big hole. Yes, it's most troublesome. However, I'm sure I can render some help to these gentlemen. I shall do my best, my boy. Are you quite sure you wouldn't like to go the citadel with the ladies? I can manage here! I should join you later."_

 _"No," Ian lied, "I'd rather stay and help you out. Just in case, you know."_

 _"Well thank you, my boy. You can start, in that case, by going to the supply cupboard. I should like plenty of water, some salt and whatever ointments they may have. I shall get started right away. Come along, hurry up! Fetch my supplies, dear boy!"_

 _Ian raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Right away. Matron."_

 _"Yes, yes." the Doctor said absently, taking his jacket off and rolling his sleeves up. "I beg your pardon?" He exclaimed._

 _Ian heard the Doctor muttering back in the ward and sniggered. He caught the odd word -"utterly disrespectful" and "ungracious" among them. He'd have loved to have gone on to the comforts of the citadel with the ladies, but he supposed someone ought to stay with the old fool. Just in case. Then, when the Doctor had done all he could, the two of them would travel onto the citadel together. There, they would meet up with Barbara and Susan, get in the Tardis and leave this terrible place to it's terrible war. Everything would be fine._

 _There's an old saying that Ian would have done well to remember - if something can go wrong, then it will go wrong. And things went from from here. So very wrong..._


	14. Ian - A Fable of the First Doctor II

**_Sabb-Landon Xavier 1, The Second Encounter_**

* * *

 _Ian returned to the ward with the items requested by the Doctor, and set them down on a table he'd set up. True, Ian wasn't a doctor, but he was a scientist. Maybe he could help a little._

 _He relayed this thought to the Doctor, who merely scoffed. "Oh no, my dear boy, no. I don't think so. Now kindly get out of the way!"_

 _"Fine." Ian said grudgingly. The Doctor pushed past him and addressed a small team of medics, for want of a better word. They were clueless about how to effectively treat these stings._

 _"Now you just listen to me," he barked to the medics (ugly and deformed like all the soldiers on this desolate waste of a planet), "these men will die unless we treat them effectively right now. Now, I am going to prepare a little solution of my own, something which I think should do the trick. I shall then leave it for you to administer, is that clear?"_

 _The medics grunted sheepishly. Clearly they were conscious of how useless their help had been. Ian wondered how many of the soldiers had died already due to their ineptitude._

 _"You may leave us," the Doctor continued, "I shall be done presently."_

 _The medics grunted again and shuffled out. At once, the Doctor set to work, mixing together all the items Ian had brought with a precision that Ian wouldn't have expected of him - he was usually so doddery._

 _"Doctor...this planet doesn't make sense to me."_

 _"Oh?" The Doctor replied, not looking up from his work. "Why not, my boy?"_

 _"A war...with bees? Have you ever seen anything like it?"_

 _"My dear boy, those bees are quite obviously the foot soldiers! The war isn't with them, it's with whatever force controls them."_

 _Ian stared at him. "The Queen? The Queen Bee?"_

 _"No, no...poor Mr. Gorat mentioned there were lots of Queen Bees...I suspect they are the generals, to coin a phrase. The ruler, I suspect, is some higher intelligence...capable of controlling and commanding vast swarms of insects. Absolutely fascinating!"_

 _"Yes," Ian agreed, "and absolutely deadly."_

 _"Yes, well there I rather fear you are correct..."_

 _"And Doctor..." Ian said slowly, "I can't help but worry that we're working for the losing side. How can you fight against such a power?"_

 _The two men stared at each other uncomfortably..._

 _/_

"So how long were you at base camp in total?" Clara asked.

"About four hours," Ian said. "The Doctor was amazing - whatever he made, it worked wonders. All the patients got better. He was a genius."

"He is that." Lady Me agreed.

"Yes," Ian agreed. "So anyway, after we were done-"

"No, just hold on a sec, Ian," Clara interrupted, "sorry to stop you. But I think we need to know what happened to Barbara and Susan in those four hours. I know you weren't there, but-"

"She told me," Ian said, a note of fury suddenly appearing in his voice, "Barbara told me what he did."

"What who did?" Clara pressed. As if they all didn't know.

"The King of the Citadel." Ian replied. "The man in the white gown..."

* * *

 _Susan and Barbara laid down contently on the soft beds of their chamber (in the citadel's royal palace, no less) each of them with a pleasant lunch inside them. It had looked and tasted a little like beef, though Barbara was fairly sure it wasn't beef. Nice though._

 _"Oh, I hope the others won't be long," Barbara sighed, stretching out. "I'd hate for them to miss out on this."_

 _"Yes," Susan agreed, "though knowing grandfather, he won't want to stay long."_

 _"Hmm." Barbara shut her eyes. "I wonder why they're letting us stay here..."_

 _"Well if grandfather can cure all those poor soldiers, I suppose this is their way of thanking us." Susan said merrily, popping a grape into her mouth from the bedside table._

 _Barbara opened her mouth to reply, but before she could there was a knock on the grand wooden door. Susan leapt to her feet and raced across the wide room to answer. A stewart walked in. He was old - his charred, pockmarked skin hung loosely from his face, and Susan guessed that these people aged differently to humans (and indeed Gallifreyans). She hadn't seen anybody old or wrinkled, with grey hair. Grandfather would certainly feel out of place, she thought with a smile. But their skin sort of...loosened as they got older. Horrible._

 _"F'give t' intrusion." the servant slurred. His voice was that of an old man - gravelly and deep. He had no teeth. His voice was very hard to understand. "Good news f' ya."_

 _"Is my grandfather here? And Ian?" Susan asked excitedly. But the old man shook his head._

 _"Na. Better. King wants t' see ya friend." The old man pointed at Barbara._

 _Barbara sat up in alarm. "The King?" she repeated incredulously._

 _"Aye. About ya friend who's helpin' the soldiers. Comin'?"_

 _Barbara glanced at Susan. "What? Just me?" She asked._

 _The old man nodded. He was particularly short, and rather fat. He wore a butlers suit which was bulging at the stomach._

 _"What about Susan?"_

 _"She's ta stay." He grunted. "No young'uns permitted in't presence of the King."_

 _"Right..." Barbara turned to her friend, "sorry Susan."_

 _"That's all right," Susan smiled. "Truth be told, I'll enjoy the peace and quiet."_

 _"Oh, will you now?" Barbara said, laughing. "Well you enjoy your solitude."_

 _"Come on then!" The man barked impatiently. Susan and Barbara raised their eyebrows._

 _"I'll see you later," Barbara said, leaving Susan and following the old man out of the room._

* * *

"You know what, though?" Ian said sadly. "We'd have been there in time...we'd have been there in time to stop Barbara getting hurt. We were probably on our way to the citadel when she was asked to meet the King."

"What happened, love?" Jo asked.

"We were intercepted." Ian replied. "We only just made it out alive."

* * *

 _The Doctor and Ian sat together in the hovercraft as it glided smoothly over the sand. When I say hovercraft, don't go confusing it with those clever contraptions on Earth. This thing literally hovered, a few inches above the sand. It was just as well - nothing with wheels would be able to travel over the sand dunes. As such, the journey was incredibly smooth. One thing the vehicle did not have, however, was air conditioning._

 _Ian mopped his sweaty forehead for the hundredth time in twenty minutes. The scorching interior of the hovercraft was really getting to him, yet the Doctor hadn't loosened a scrap of clothing. Despite that, he didn't particularly appear to be sweating - a little flushed, but that was all._

 _"Aren't you hot?" Ian exclaimed._

 _"No, no, I'm quite all right my boy." the Doctor replied. He was looking quite pleased with himself, and Ian didn't blame him - all of the patients in that hideous camp ward were recovering now, thanks to the ointment he'd developed for them. Not bad for a doctor not of medicine._

 _Despite the unpleasantness of the journey, they were both excited. The Commander had radioed ahead and told the King of the Citadel the news - a group of people had crashed landed onto the planet in a little blue ship, one of them a doctor. And that doctor, a white haired old man, had cured everyone. The King had invited them for a banquet that evening, where they would be guests of honour. Although they were still pretty keen to get out of here, that didn't sound like something to be missed. The King promised that he'd tell Barbara and Susan the news personally._

 _"I have to say," Ian said, shutting his eyes, trying to ignore the sweltering heat of the hovercraft, "this is all moving rather quickly, isn't it?"_

 _"Well, I uh...as it happens my boy, I agree with you. One minute, prisoners of war. The next, guests of honour at a royal banquet! Quite the turnaround, eh?"_

 _The two men chuckled, shaking each other by the hand._

 _They stopped chuckling when they heard the noise overhead. Buzzing. Ian looked up and saw a thick black cloud approaching them from overhead. His stomach turned to lead. It was another swarm._

 _"Commander!" Ian exclaimed, poking his head into the front cabin, in which the commander was driving, "it's them. They've found us."_

 _"Yeah, thanks for letting me know." the Commander barked sarcastically. "I rather gathered that for myself. Just shut up and strap in, yeah? We're going for a little fly."_

 _Ian hurriedly belted in, the Doctor following his lead. Just in time - less than a second after they had they heard that satisfying click of the belt clipping in, the whole craft rose into the air. Vertically. Ian and the Doctor cried out as they suddenly found themselves sitting sideways, held tightly and rather painfully to the seats by their belts._

 _Finally, they straightened out. Ian glanced back out of the window and felt his already tense stomach turn - they were about a hundred meters in the air, the sand far, far below them._

 _The Doctor gripped his hand. "Courage, dear boy," to Ian's astonishment, the old man appeared to be rather enjoying this. Ian's stomach was churning violently, and he feared he would bring up his lunch. Chancing another look out of the window didn't help - they were level with the swarm now. Bees were circling around outside. One of them landed on the hovercraft, but no sooner had it touched down, it went zooming off back into the air, zig-zagging uncontrollably. Insecticide was smeared on the hull. They couldn't land on it, and couldn't get in._

 _But they could swarm. The Doctor glanced through to the Commander's cabin and was horrified to see the bees swarming a few feet in front of the window. The Commander was flying blind, the bees delibaratley making it impossible for him to see. They were in a rickety old box, a hundred meters above the ground, with no idea where they were flying._

 _"Hold tight, fellas." the Commander grunted. He was fumbling with the controls._

 _"Just what do you think you you doing?" the Doctor exclaimed, "kindly focus on driving!"_

 _"Shut it, pops," he grunted, grinning and pressing one final button. Music blared out through some speakers in the corner of his cockpit. It was like no music Ian or the Doctor had ever heard. It was loud, electronic and incoherent. In years to come, they would both recognize the music as "heavy metal." Not that either of them ever got the taste for it._ _And this was loud. Earsplittingly loud. So loud, in fact, that the Thirtieth Doctor herself would have been been able to just about hear a low humming noise._

 _But the First Doctor and Ian could hear perfectly well. They clutched their ears. "Turn it off!" Ian bellowed, but nobody heard him. The Commander grinned like a madman, and engaged the guns attached to the front of the hovercraft. He couldn't fight without some good old fashioned Earth music to get him in the mood. He fired his weapons, jets of lethal bug-spray soaking the bees in front of the vehicle. This stuff wasn't as high a concentration as that which was smeared on the hull. That was too thick, it wouldn't fire very far. It needed to be diluted in order to work in the guns, but that made it less effective. Nonetheless, that isn't to say it was ineffective. Some of the bees, exposed to the highest doses, went haywire. A few of them simply lost the ability to fly and plummeted. Some, however, carried on. They were all around the hovercraft now, millions of them. They'd effectively formed a twister around it, and neither the Commander and his passengers could see past it._

 _They swayed and flew forwards, the Commander firing randomly at the insects in front - but the guns only fired forwards, and the bees were getting wise to that. The swarm moved a little to the sides, forced to give the Commander a tunnel vision ahead. But it wasn't much help. He couldn't see down, all he could see was a narrow strip of sky. He fired his weapons again in a futile gesture, hoping a jet might catch the odd bee. The hovercraft was fast, and full of fuel. The bees were living creatures, which would tire sooner or later...surely if he could just_ _keep flying_ , _he could outrun them?_

 _And so he might of. But no sooner had he got his hopes up, something appeared up ahead, blocking out the little tunnel of sky that he could see. A large shape fell across the blue sky._

 _"Oh no..." the Commander said helplessly. Ian and the Doctor peered through and their mouths fell open when they saw that he was looking at. It was a bee. A bee the size of a small lorry. It's body was covered in thick tufts of black and yellow fur, and two blank, empty eyes stared at the little hovercraft. It's stinger was as long as an oar, the wickedly sharp tip dripping with poison._

 _They could only watch in horror as the thing curled up, thrusting it's stinger forwards like a huge spear..._

* * *

 _Barbara walked into the throne room with her head bowed - that was tradition here, for everyone to enter the throne room looking down at the floor. She was a trifle anxious. There were maids flanking her as she approached the empty throne (a towering stone seat with patterned cushioning) and was finally allowed to look up. The King wasn't there. It was tradition on this planet that nobody comes to see the King - instead, the King comes to see them. He always enters the room last._

 _A trumpet sounded, and Barbara ensured that her head remained resolutely down. She felt a man bustle past her and take his place on the throne. Finally, after making himself comfortable, he spoke the words Barbara had been told to listen out for, "At ease."_

 _Barbara heard the rustle of the maids relaxing around her, and finally looked up. Good - her neck was starting to ache. She surveyed the King with interest. Her first thought was that he was a human! She'd been expecting another of the deformed humanoid creatures, but this man was smooth, handsome and young. Younger than she expected. Much younger. Late twenties? Early thirties maybe? It was hard to tell. He wore a white and beige robe. His head was clean shaved. He sported a little goatee. It was Tomasz Wrench._

 _"Welcome," he said in a voice that was anything but, "to my city. It's beautiful, isn't it?"_

 _"Oh yes," Barbara agreed, "thank you for making us so comfortable here."_

 _"Quite, quite," Tomasz said, smiling coldly at Barbara. "My name, Barbara Wright, is King Thomas 1st of Sabb-Landon Xavier 1."_

 _"I see," Barbara smiled. She was uneasy - his demeanor was making her uneasy._

 _"Your friends are on their way now." The Other said. "The Doctor saved everyone. Quite literally. Everyone. The ability to treat the bee stings is a breakthrough of an unprecedented level. It could turn the tide of the war."_

 _Barbara nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, your Majesty. He's a very wonderful man. I'm sure you'll like him very much, when you meet him."_

 _"That may not be entirely possible. I've received some rather upsetting news. The hovercraft's come under attack somewhere between base camp and the city. Bees. Lots of them, including a Queen."_

 _"Oh no!" Barbara exclaimed. "Are they all right?"_

 _"No." the King said, "the bees have orders to kill them."_

 _"But can't you do something?" Barbara cried._

 _Tomasz laughed. "I could call off the attack. I did, after all, order it personally."_

 _Barbara heard him, but didn't register it at once._

 _"You ordered it?" She said finally, staring at him in disbelief. "But you can't have!"_

 _"I can promise you that I did," Tomasz replied._

 _"But you can't!" Barbara repeated, cold fear flooding her. "I thought the bees were the enemy...how can you have ordered them to attack the Doctor?"_

 _"I control them. This sham of a war amuses me."_

 _Barbara stared at the maids flanking her. All of them looked as shocked as she, their contorted faces staring incredulously at their king. Their confusion didn't last long. The King reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gun. With four perfect shots, he murdered them. Each one of them exploded into dust around Barbara._

 _"No witnesses." He said._

 _Barbara screamed, and charged for the door to the throne room. It was locked, of course. Barbara scrabbled with the handle, but it wouldn't budge. She screamed for help, but nobody heard. She turned around slowly and burst into tears - the King was standing up, walking slowly towards her. He tossed his gun to the side and grabbed Barbara roughly around the waist, clamping her mouth shut._

 _"The Doctor will almost certainly die out there..." he hissed into Barbara's ear, "the bees never lose...but I'm no fool. There's a first time for everything. And should he make it here, you, Barbara Wright, are going to do me a very big favour. Listening?"_

 _Barbara nodded desparatley._

 _"If he does make it here, I would_ really _appreciate it...if you would kill him for me. And I think you will. I know you will..."_

 _Tomasz turned Barbara around to face him, his dark, ancient eyes boring into her own. "You will do what I tell you..." he insisted._

 _And Barbara listened. She had no choice - the Other was a superb hypnotist._

* * *

 _The giant bee zoomed towards the hovercraft, the other bees scattering as it approached - it would be messy. Ian saw at once that the stinger would pass through the metal hull quite easily. The pesticide didn't work on a creature this size._

 _With a sickening crunch, the bee struck home. It's sting passed through the exterior, through into the Commander's cabin, and into the empty passenger seat. The Commander screamed and whacked it uselessly - it was hard as stone. With a hideous ripping noise, the bee removed the stinger from the seat, from the vehicle altogether. It had punctured a huge hole in the hovercraft, and at this altitude that was a big problem. Ian suddenly found it hard to breathe, as air rushed out through the open hole. Ian took deep, gasping breaths but it wasn't enough._

 _The creature hadn't finished with them there, however. It charged again, and this time it's aim was horribly true. The stinger penetrated the driver's side window, disintegrating it in a second. The massive great needle slammed into the Commander, and the driver's cabin was splattered with blood. The Commander was mush, dead before he knew what had happened. His music was still playing. That upset Ian at the time, and now, looking back on this adventure for the first time in a long time, it upset him still._

 _This time, the Bee withdrew again and then tried to enter headfirst - it was going to eat Ian and the Doctor alive! The Doctor drove his stick into one of it's blank eyes, and with a screech it reeled backwards - big mistake. Once the bee was no longer supporting the weight of the vehicle, it spun violently out of control, it's pilot as dead as mutton and it's controls shot to pieces. The little bees backed away from the berserk metal box, not wanting to get hit. The Queen Bee, however, struck again._

 _"I'm sorry, my boy." The Doctor said helplessly, staring in horror at the huge orange-black face of the gargantuan insect as it tried to claw it's way into the back cabin of the hovercraft. "I rather fear that we've come to the end."_

 _"Yes," Ian said, taking the Doctor's hand, "but not without a fight."_

 _The Doctor chuckled. "Well put, dear boy!" He slammed the point of his walking stick into the bee's other eye. Harder than before. The creature was properly hurt this time, drawing back and whining in pain._

 _But again, that left them unsupported in mid-air. The hovercraft tumbled uncontrollably through the air, and the two friends were thrown backwards onto some sort of supply cupboard at the back of the cabin, which burst open, all manner of items raining down on their heads._

 _Then came the third strike. The bee used it's stinger again this time, not willing to risk another injury to it's eyes. It was angry now. It rammed it's sting into the wrecked vehicle through the window._

 _Then it died._

 _The hovercraft was a wreck. A small fire had started in the engine when the bee administered it's first attack. It had burned dimly, no real danger. But then, on the bee's third and worst strike, it had ruptured the oil well in the engine. The oil had spilled out. Spilled onto the little fire. The explosion that resulted shattered what was left of the hovercraft in a fiery blaze. The big bumblebee was fried in an instant. The explosion sent pieces of metal flying everywhere, in all directions. Metal smeared with insecticide. Several thousand of the little bees were coated in it. They died horribly. Those that remained flew away in an instant. They had no reason to stay - the target had been totally destroyed. It was a real pity the Queen Bee went up with it, but it was mission accomplished._

 _You can picture the Other's dismay, therefore, when Ian and the Doctor transmitted directly into the citadel shortly afterwards._

* * *

Jack whistled. "Quite the escape eh, grampster?"

Ian glared at him. "Yes. Quite the escape. We truly thought...well, you can imagine what we thought."

"I bet he was furious," Lady Me laughed, "the Other, I mean - when you two turned up unharmed after that."

"Oh, he was." Ian said. "Utterly furious."

"And he'd prepared for that, hadn't he?" Clara said slowly. "He'd hypnotized Barbara to kill you."

"Well...the Doctor, yes. And she nearly did it at that. See, we were taken straight to her and Susan in their chamber, when"

* * *

 _all of a sudden, Barbara went quiet as they walked into the room. She stared into space, a distressed look on her face._

 _"Barbara!" Ian exclaimed, as Susan finally released him from a strangling hug. "Aren't you pleased to see us? It was a narrow thing, you know!"_

 _"Yes..." Barbara said quietly, not looking at Ian. "Yes, I know..."_

 _What happened next seemed to go in slow motion. Ian saw Barbara reach into her pocket, and slowly bring something out...a gun. A revolver! What? Where did she get that? And why, oh why, was she now pointing it at the Doctor? It all happened so slowly. Ian saw it all unfold, but he couldn't move...he couldn't believe what he was seeing._

 _Susan gasped and clutched her face. Barbara was staring at the Doctor now, the revolver pointed at his chest. He stared at her, clutching his lapels. He spoke to her sternly. "Now, Miss. Wright. Put that down. Put it down at once."_

 _Barbara didn't reply. Her eyes were blank and lifeless. Her hand shook slightly. Ian walked slowly towards her, but after the first step, she rounded the gun on him. He held his hands up and didn't come any closer._

 _"Barbara, I do not take kindly to threats." the Doctor warned, moving towards Barbara himself. Susan whimpered as Barbara's grip on the gun tightened. "Whatever's going on here, you need to put that down at once."_

 _"I..." Barbara began. Then, she clutched her head and screamed in agony. She collapsed to the floor._

 _"Barbara!" Ian yelled, "Barbara, what is it?"_

 _"My head..." she whimpered, the gun dropping limply from her hand. Susan kicked it away across the room._

 _The Doctor towered over Ian and Barbara - although he was a small man, in that moment Ian was genuinely frightened. A power came off of the old man, a power so strong that it sent a shiver down his spine. That was one of the first times he really understood what a powerful creature the doddery old man was - how much_ more _he was than just a human being. He and Susan belonged to a race far beyond anything they would ever comprehend._

 _"Now pull yourself together, young lady. What is this nonsense? Why did you try to shoot me? Eh?" His voice was stern, but not unkind._

 _"H...he made me," Barbara said, crying in agony as she clutched her head. Blood was pouring from her nose._

 _"Good gracious me! We must get her back to the Tardis," the Doctor exclaimed, grabbing Barbara's arm, and lifting her up with Ian._

 _"It's all right, I've got her," Ian said. "Where's the Tardis?"_

 _"Down the corridor," Susan said at once, "follow me."_

 _They left, Barbara in Ian's arms. "What's happening to her, Doctor?" Ian cried._

 _"She will die unless we can get her to the Tardis. We can stabilize her there, now hurry up! She's been exposed to a particularly brutal form of hypnosis, and it will kill her if she isn't treated at once."_

 _They found the Tardis parked in some sort of loading bay. The Doctor opened the doors and ushered everyone in. He was just about to follow, when he noticed the bald man in the white robes._

 _The Doctor shivered. Another Time Lord! He knew it the moment he saw him...Time Lords always do._

 _The Other chuckled. "A charmed life if ever there was one, Doctor."_

 _The Doctor frowned. "Oh, so you know who I am, eh?"_

 _The Other nodded. "We've met. You realize now, I intend to kill you myself."_

 _"Oh?" the Doctor said, as the Other pulled a small gun from his cloak. Oh dear...he could try and rush into the Tardis, but he got the impression that he'd be shot down if he so much as moved..._

 _It was Ian who saved him. He'd watched the Other approach on the scanner, and he'd seen him pull the gun on the Doctor. The Doctor didn't have a gun on board - that wasn't his way at all. Ian was a clever man. Somehow, he knew this man was responsible for what happened to Barbara...and that made him angry. He charged like a raging bull at the Other, otherwise known as King Thomas, with such speed that even a man with the Other's remarkable sleight of hand couldn't bring the gun up in time. Ian delivered a flying rugby tackle to the man in the cloak. Wrench screamed and clutched his stomach. He'd been shot in his stomach, not so long ago. Back on Yaed, in an encounter which took place hundreds of years into the Doctor's future. The Doctor and Ian took their chance - they clambered into the blue box and took off. The Other howled in fury as the metallic throbbing filled the air and the blue box faded out of existence. He'd got away! He'd got away! How?_

* * *

As Ian finished his story, Clara once again turned the little disc off, smiling gently. Jamie clapped. For a moment, it was just him. They Jack joined in. So did Amy, and Jo. Soon, the whole room was applauding Ian, who sat there smiling sheepishly, turning a little red.

"Good on ya, pal." Mickey said, shaking his hand.

"Was Barbara all right?" Lady Me asked.

"Fine, yes." Ian said bitterly. "Eventually. Tell me again - when do we stop this man?"

"Soon." Clara promised. "But remember, it's not Tomasz Wrench anymore. Well okay, it is, but he's regenerated since then. Thomasina is worse. Much, much worse."

"How do you _know_ all this?" Jack asked incredulously.

Clara shrugged. "I have my sources. Now, on that note, Captain. Harkness - your up. If your happy to go for it?"

Jack pretended to consider it. "Ah, go on then," he said finally, grinning, "as it's you."

Ian vacated his seat for Jack, but Jack declined. "I'm good to stand, pal. You stay where you are." He had a newfound respect for Ian Chesterton, after hearing all of that.

"Right." Clara said. "So...we don't really know for sure what the Other was doing on that planet. Or do we? We now know that he established himself as a monarch. We know he created a civil war - the people against the bees. But why? Well, what I think is this - he was building something. It was all set up as a cover."

"Oh, aye? Like what?" Jamie said.

"A Tardis." Clara said simply. "He was growing a Tardis, somewhere in that citadel. We know that, because the next time he appeared was when he crash landed on Earth in 1980. Him, and a handful of his horrible subjects. Jack - This is where you come in."

Jack nodded. Clara held the disc to his face, and turned the light on. Jack's expression changed, as the memories came flooding back in an instant...

Without further ado, and with none of his usual dramatic flair, Captain. Jack Harkness began reciting his part of the story...

* * *

 **Note: I know this one's taken slightly longer to upload, took quite a while to write. Sorry :/ I'll aim to get back to releasing a chapter a day after this. Hope everyone is still liking it!**


	15. Jack - A Natter of the Ninth Doctor I

**_Earth, 1980, The Third Encounter_**

* * *

 _"But what do you think it is?" Rose said as the Doctor hurriedly rushed around the Tardis console, slamming on levers and checking readings._

 _"Not a meteor," the Ninth Doctor replied, "I mean yeah, there are parts of the universe where meteors are made o' metal, but not here. This can't be a meteor."_

 _Jack was collapsed on the seats by the console, the orange-yellow glare of the console room doing little to improve his headache. "Whatever it is, it's crashed, right? You reckon the pilot's alive?"_

 _The Doctor glared at him. "Even if they are, I'm not letting ya sell it. Be sure o' that."_

 _Jack shrugged, regretting the reflex at once - his shoulders were bruised and sore. That cockney thug had really taken him to town._

 _"Kent," the Doctor said, "Kent, Kent, Kent...what_ is _Kent?"_

 _"A county," Rose said, staring at him incredulously. "Surely even you know that?"_

 _The Doctor brought up a map of England on the console's screen. "Point it out."_

 _"Sort of...there." Rose said a little uncertainly, pointing to an area of the country to the bottom-right of London._

 _"Right. I'll scan for alien activity "sort of there", and we should be able to pinpoint the crash site."_

 _"What will we do once we get there?" Jack asked. "Those UNIT lot will be there. We won't get within a mile of the thing."_

 _"We'll worry about that later," the Doctor snapped, "if it's a genuine crash, we'll 'elp the crew home. If it's...something bad, we'll deal with it."_

 _He slammed on the main lever, and the engines shuddered into life. Rose had to suppress a grin - she always got such a thrill when they took off. It even revived Jack a little bit. His poor head..._

* * *

"I told him we wouldn't get anywhere near, but he wouldn't have it." Jack laughed. "He was stubborn, that one was. Number nine."

"He was miserable," Clara said quietly, "he was fresh out of the Time War. He was damaged. He hid it behind a big smile and a lot of bad dad jokes."

"That's pretty accurate," Jack agreed. "But again - how do you know all of this? You weren't there!"

"I've seen all of them." Clara replied simply. "But carry on - what happened when you got to Kent?"

"Well, he parked up in a field, a few miles from the crash site. We had to walk from there - bear in mind, this was just about the hottest day of 1980, and Kent is one of the hottest parts of England. That hike was blood-curdling."

"I'll bet," Clara agreed, "but skip that - what happened when you got to the crash site?"

"We got stopped." Jack said simply.

"UNIT?" Jo asked excitedly.

Jack nodded. "UNIT."

* * *

 _There was a cordon of about half a mile around the crash site - the object had come down in a field of wheat (poor farmer) and a UNIT chopper was overhead, ensuring that nobody tried to sneak through. That's how they were caught._

 _Soldiers were patrolling all along the cordon in their green uniforms, annoyingly hard to spot in the lush green fields. They were all armed. Assault rifles mainly, with a few sub-machine guns. The Doctor, Rose and Jack had managed to sneak past them (Jack having taken some strong painkillers in the Tardis), but just as they were crawling under the red and yellow cordon, a siren blared out, and the helicopter hovered directly over them._

 _"Ah man," Jack said, disappointed. Within seconds, the soldiers were charging towards them, guns raised. The Doctor grinned broadly and raised his hands. Rose and Jack hurriedly did the same. The nearest soldier pulled a small handgun out of his pocket._

 _"Good afternoon!" the Doctor beamed, "now, three very excellent reasons not to shoot us. One-"_

 _The soldier took a step forward and hit the Doctor over the head. The Doctor stiffened like a board, shaking every so slightly. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead, and with a groan, he collapsed to the floor. No sooner had Jack seen him go down, he too was hit on the head. Again. With a yell, he collapsed in a heap, face planting on the grass._

 _Rose stared down at the men, and whimpered as the soldier rounded on her. "Do I need to do the same to you?" He barked. He wasn't going to, not unless he could help it. Rose clearly wasn't a threat to him._

 _"No." Rose said defiantly, keeping her hands in the air. "You didn't need to do it to them."_

 _"Shut up. Now hold still - cuffs going on."_

 _Rose yelped as a soldier grabbed her roughly from behind and forced her hands into a pair of cuffs. Two more soldiers dragged the Doctor and Jack to their feet. The Doctor was more or less fine already - he was a Time Lord. But Jack wasn't. The soldier who heaved him up had to drape Jack's arm over his shoulders to keep him from collapsing again._

 _"Where are we going?" The Doctor groaned as the UNIT men started leading them away._

 _"You, my old son, are going before the Colonel." The soldier with the taser replied. "she'll decide what to do with you."_

 _"Tell them who you are!" Rose hissed in the Doctor's ear - didn't he use to work with UNIT? Why didn't they know it was him?_

 _The Doctor shook his head bluntly, but the soldier's eyes narrowed, "who are you?"_

 _The Doctor groaned. "Nobody. Come on, take us to the Colonel."_

"Poeeetry in motion..." _Jack suddenly sung out, making everyone jump. He was delirious. So far today, he'd been beaten to the point of concussion, made to hike a few miles in sweltering weather and then hit on the head with a pistol. Naturally, he was a little under the weather by this point._

 _"Shut up, idiot!" The UNIT officer holding him grunted, slapping him over the head._

 _"Yeah, shut up Jack." The Doctor chipped in. "Just let me do the talking."_

 _"About that - your story better be flipping good, me old buddy. Flipping good. You get me? This area was sealed off for a reason."_

 _"Don't worry, the Colonel will be satisfied."_

"A wave out on the ocean...could never move that waay," _Jack sung, grinning a dazed grin. Perhaps he had heat stroke as well as concussion?_

 _"Shut up!" The Doctor and the soldiers said together. Rose suppressed a giggle.  
_

 _The Doctor's story, as it transpired, did_ not _satisfy the Colonel - a small, neat woman with fair skin and large brown eyes. But then, even in his dazed stupor, Jack could tell how terribly poor it was - the three of them were farmers, no less. Three farmers who were wondering what the commotion was about. As you might imagine, the Colonel was not at all convinced. Rose was exasperated - why didn't he tell them the truth! Twice, she opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor shot her a warning look each time. Something that the Colonel clearly picked up on._

 _"Right," she said slowly, "as cover stories go my friends, that wasn't spectacular. Quite frankly, I think you'll be staying right here for now."_

 _"Here" was a mobile base - a large green articulated lorry, containing a vast array of computers and other strange military gear which meant nothing to Rose. It was quite unique. Although in years to come, UNIT would have many such lorries, back in 1980 this was cutting edge to the extreme._

 _"Oh dear..." the Doctor said, suppressing a smirk. "Is that entirely necessary?"_

 _"Yep, yes it is. Yeah. Sarge, if you'd be so kind - show them to their quarters."_

 _They were dragged to a small, empty room in the back of the lorry. The door was shut tightly and locked. The second they were alone, Rose rounded angrily on the Doctor._

 _"Why did you do that?" She exclaimed._

 _The Doctor grinned widely. "Do what?"_

 _"Give them such a bunch of bu.. such a bunch of rubbish? They'd never have believed it."_

 _Jack scoffed - he was feeling better now, but his head was still throbbing aggressively. "You had a plan, right Doc?"_

 _"Yeah," the Doctor laughed, "yeah, course. It's simple - whatever's out in that field, we want at it. Right?"_

 _"Yeah..." Rose said slowly._

 _"Think about it. If I gave 'em a good story, they'd have escorted us far away from the site. We wanted to stay here, right? Well how 'bout that - here we are."_

 _"Yeah. Locked in." Rose said grudgingly. "Why didn't you just tell them who you are? They'd have taken us straight to the crash site!"_

 _"No. The time-line won't stand for that. This is 1980. I basically work for them right now, but...but not_ this _me. I'd only confuse 'em. And anyway, trust me - UNIT don't help. They destroy. I can't be doing with it. So if it turns out to be dangerous, we let UNIT do their stuff. If it's a genuine crash, they'll need our help. We'll need to protect them from UNIT."_

 _Rose thought it through. "Okay," she said finally, "but the fact remains, we're locked in."_

 _The Doctor's grin got even wider. "Not for long."_

 _There was something about how he said that which made Rose uneasy. Jack too. And very little made Jack uneasy._

* * *

Here, Jack paused for breath. He'd be talking enthusiastically, and very quickly. Unlike Martha and Ian, the memories weren't so bad for him. Unpleasant, yes. But in his long, long life (longer by far than Ian's), he'd seen many unpleasant things. What happened that night in the field wasn't so bad by his standards.

"Come on," Jamie urged, "I were enjoying it! How did ya get oot?"

"Yeah..." Jack said, sounding rather bitter but smiling just the same, "that."

"Sonic screwdriver?" Lady Me guessed.

"No, it was deadlock sealed. Electronic. Those lorries were built with-"

"Alien tech." Martha finished, smiling. "When I worked with UNIT, we used them a lot. That must have been the very first, the one you were in!"

"Exactly," Jack said, "so we needed to be a little more creative..."

* * *

 _"Pretend to die?" Rose repeated incredulously. "You serious?"_

 _"Yeah!" The Doctor grinned. "Two hearts remember. I'll stop one. It'll look like I'm dead."_

 _"Amazing," Jack beamed. "I like your style, Doctor."_

 _"Yeah, thanks." The Doctor said. "I don't make a habit of it. But needs must. Romana taught me..."_

 _He regretted saying that last part. He blinked, and looked away from his friends, overcome with emotion for a moment. Neither Jack nor Rose spoke. The false grin and the jolly demeanor that the Ninth Doctor tried so hard to put on had slipped in an instant. He looked on the verge of tears, and it broke Rose's heart to see. But then, within moments, he shook his head and continued as though nothing had happened, his shield of good humour and big smiles back on._

 _"So yeah, that's what I'll do. Just gotta concentrate, and..."_

 _He screwed up his face in effort, and after a second, he started panting. "Hurts..." he moaned. He clutched his chest and allowed himself to collapse gently to the floor of the cell. His face was pale, and he didn't appear to be breathing. He looked dead. So dead, that Rose was worried. Had it gone wrong? Had he accidentally killed himself in the attempt? She looked at Jack in alarm._

 _"He's fine," Jack assured her groggily, "Start screaming. Call for help."_

 _"Me? Why me? Why not you?"_

 _"Truth be told," Jack replied, "I think I'll puke if I try. Still a little bit concussed, you know. I'm sure neither of us want me to be ill."_

 _"No, point taken." Rose said at once. "All right..."_

 _Rose let out her best scream. "He's dead!" She yelled shrilly. "Please! You've got to get us out of here! He's died! Please! Somebody!"_

 _Jack grinned and gave her a round of silent applause. There was movement on the other side of the door. Someone was out there, but they weren't coming in yet._

 _"What's wrong?" A voice barked._

 _"My friends just...died!" Rose replied. "Please, let us out! Help him!"_

 _"Wait right there." The voice commanded through the door, sounding a bit more suspicious than Rose would have liked. After a few seconds, there was a scraping sound and the door swung open. To Rose's dismay, there were two guards - one whom she'd been speaking to, and the other who had been called as backup. The first soldier walked in cautiously. "Don't try nothing." He warned Rose and Jack, who raised their hands. The second guard was holding a rifle. He stayed outside of the cell._

 _The first soldier prodded the Doctor with the toe of his boot. He frowned. The guy sure_ looked _dead. Deathly pale and totally still...but what was drilled into them all from day one of UNIT training? Never just assume something is what it appears to be. Ever._

 _But he shouldn't have been proud of remembering that rule. Because in actual fact, he hadn't. He'd remembered it with regards to the Doctor - he looks dead, he might not be. But then there was Jack. Jack looked concussed, confused and unwell. He was all of things. But not nearly to the extent that he appeared to be. As the soldier was looking down, finally coming to the conclusion that the Doctor was indeed dead, Jack grabbed him and wheeled him around. The second soldier raised his rifle at once, but Jack was using his colleague as a human shield._

 _"Put him do-" before the soldier could finish, Jack threw the first soldier at him. Hard. The pair of them went sprawling back against the wall. Thankfully, the rifle didn't go off. As soon as they fell, the Doctor leapt to his feet. The first guard saw him get up and actually screamed - he was sure he'd been dead! The Doctor quickly held the man's mouth shut, and Jack grabbed the rifle from the other soldier's hands. The two men gazed up at Jack, furious with themselves, and terrified._

 _"Into the cell, if you please chaps." The Doctor said gently, smiling. "And we'll 'ave the uniforms."_

 _They obliged at once. Jack ushered them in first, and then he and the Doctor followed them, shutting the door. It was a tight squeeze, with five of them in there. Jack held the gun tightly, in case they tried anything. "Undress please boys." Jack said._

 _They had no choice. Jack watched with interest as the two men took their uniforms off, wondering what he might see...as it transpired, nothing to write home about. Shame._

 _"Right," The Doctor said, looking at the dropped uniforms. "Rose. Captain. Get changed."_

 _"You what?" Rose spluttered, "Me?"_

 _"No way I'm wearing one of those." The Doctor said. "Not...not a military outfit."_

 _Then Rose understood. Although she wasn't happy about it, she put the smaller outfit on over her clothes. Jack put his own uniform on. The pair of them were baking already - the night was muggy, and the green uniforms were made of thick material. Rose's might have belonged to the smaller man, but it was still way too big for her._

 _"Right." The Doctor said, smirking. "Sorry chaps, but I think I'd better lock you in. Can't be too careful, you understand?"_

 _"Your all dead meat." The second one growled._

 _"Thanks." The Doctor locked them in._

 _"Now what?" Rose sighed, uncomfortable in her gear. How did they bear it in this getup?_

 _"Now," the Doctor said, "we go to the crash site. Act casual, don't talk unless stopped. Clear?"_

 _So, with the Doctor acting as prisoner and Jack and Rose as guards, the three friends set off, hoping to reach the crash site unchallenged..._

* * *

 ** _Note: Jack was singing "Poetry In Motion" by Johnny Tilloston (released in 1960)._**


	16. Jack - A Natter of the Ninth Doctor II

**_Earth, 1980, The Third Encounter_**

* * *

 _There wasn't much of a problem getting out of the lorry - the Colonel had left, and a lot of the soldiers from earlier that day had gone home - their replacements knew that there were three prisoners, but they were none the wiser as to what they looked like. As such, nobody particularly batted an eyelid when they saw two UNIT officers escorting one of the prisoners away. A couple of them queried it. Jack, putting on his most endearing smile, simply grunted something about "advanced interrogation", which worryingly seemed to satisfy whomever had asked the question._

 _Once they got outside, things got a little more problematic. Why were two officers escorting a captured intruder to the site of the "meteor" crash? That was slightly harder to explain, and Rose and Jack were stumped for an answer._

 _"Doctor, what do we say?" Rose whispered urgently._

 _"Ah...erm...well, if they don't know my face...I'm Dr. John Smith, astrophysicist, biologist, radiologist ecetera. Make it up."_

 _"All right," Rose said, "do you think it'll work?"_

 _"Why not? I'm an expert, here to inspect the object which crashed. I got the documents to prove it." The Doctor pulled out his psychic paper._

 _"Genius," Jack said admiringly._

 _"I know I am," the Doctor chuckled, "Remember - I'm not your prisoner now, your just showing me the way. Yeah?"_

 _So they set off, crossing the gloomy, moonlit fields in the direction of the crash site. Despite the late hour, the heat was stifling for Jack and Rose, in their stolen uniforms. Rose didn't have a gun, but Jack still had hold of the rifle. It was a heavy contraption - much more cumbersome than the weapons from years to come which he had used._

 _They crept towards the cordon, and it was then that Rose detected a faint glow, coming from about half a mile past the cordon. It was a faint, white glow coming from a field somewhere in that direction. It wouldn't have been noticeable earlier, in the blazing sunshine, but now in the darkness it was hard to miss._

 _"The crash site?" Rose whispered._

 _The Doctor shrugged. "S'pose it must be."_

 _"It ain't radioactive, is it?" Jack said, suddenly rather worried._

 _Again, the Doctor shrugged. "If it is, I'll sense that. You two'll 'ave to turn back if so. I'll be all right."_

 _Jack and Rose glanced at each other uneasily. The three of them continued to walk quietly and purposefully towards the site. They were_ supposed _to be there. They had no reason to hide. If they could convince everyone of that, then all is well._

 _The first test came at the cordon. A young UNIT soldier who's been patrolling behind the line approached them._

 _"Good evening," he said, smiling, "what's going on?"_

 _"Oh, um...taking the Doc here to inspect the site," Jack said casually, " This is Doctor. John Spock, astrophysicist."_

 _"Yeah? Got your identity papers, Doctor. Spock?"_

 _The Doctor, shooting Jack a furious look, showed the soldier his psychic paper. "There ya go, mate. Should be in order."_

 _The soldier studied it. "Yeah, all right. Why are you here, though? Why didn't you go in through the checkpoint?"_

 _"I don't need to." The Doctor said at once. "I'm here unofficially...UN special independent inquiry. I'm sure you understand?"_

 _"Um...well, yeah," the soldier lied. He stared at Jack and Rose. "I haven't met you two before, have I?"_

 _"Sure ya have!" Jack said brightly. "Now, if it's all the same to you, the Doc's in rather a hurry."_

 _It was_ not _all the same to the soldier. But Jack had a gun. The others might be concealing weapons. There were three of them and one of him. Which is why he nodded. "All right. Go on through."_

 _"Good lad," the Doctor said, "don't work too hard."_

 _The three of them set off past the soldier, heading to the crash site. As soon as they were out of earshot, the soldier got on his radio. "Yeah, Greyhound Twelve to Trap One. Come in?"_

 _"We copy, Greyhound Twelve. Over." A voice buzzed from his radio. It was the voice of a man named Sergeant Benton, who had been given temporary control back at the lorry, whilst the Colonel was off duty._

 _"Yeah, can I just check something with you? Over."_

* * *

"I guess he wasn't fooled then," Clara said, smirking slightly.

"Can't see that he was," Jack replied, "because there was a little welcoming party waiting at the crash site for us."

"Right. And when you say welcoming party, you mean..."

"About a dozen soldiers, yeah. They shot at the Doctor, can you believe that?"

"Well, honesty yeah." Clara said. "You and him assaulted two of them, broke out of jail, and were trying to get to the site of an unknown, potentially dangerous item. Did he get hit?"

"No," Jack said. "But we _thought_ that he had been, for a moment. I remember that well - it was horrible."

"What happened?" Lady Me asked.

"He fainted." Jack said. "Flat out fainted. We sort of heard him hyperventilating, and then he just collapsed on us. At the time, I thought it was the shock of being fired at, but...well, I realised that couldn't have been it. The Doctor doesn't get scared like that...it wasn't the gunfire. It was-"

"-the crash site." Clara finished Jack's sentence for him. "He saw what it was that had crashed. He knew what it was, and it sent him into shock. Correct?"

Jack nodded. "That's right, yeah."

"Come on, then," Clara said, "tell us more."

"All right," Jack said, "so, we were approaching the crash site...the thing was glowing like a massive great lighthouse lamp. It was about...I dunno, four meters by four meters...the size of your average escape pod. But we couldn't make out what it was, the glow was too strong. The Doctor tried to turn us back. He said-

* * *

 _"It's radioactive! I can feel it. You two better turn back 'ere."_

 _"Not without you," Rose said at once, "come on Doctor, don't get closer!"_

 _"Why not?" The Doctor said. "I'm resistant to most forms of radiation. Not all...most. I think I'll be fine."_

 _"You think?" Rose said incredulously. "That really doesn't make me confident."_

 _They'd gotten far part the cordon, and they were on the field of the crash site - the object had come down more or less in the centre of the field, and it was glowing very powerfully._

 _"How far will the radiation spread?" Jack asked nervously._

 _The Doctor shrugged. "Not far...but seriously, go back you two. Now!"_

 _They had little choice but to listen. They stayed put, whilst the Doctor edged slowly forwards, hardly daring to breath. It wasn't the radiation which was scaring him, roentgen radiation, and at any rate, the levels were low. It wasn't that which was making his hairs stand on end, which was causing his hearts to beat rapidly. It was what he thought was beneath that blinding glow..._

 _"Hello," he called out, his voice cracking, "can anyone hear me?"_

 _He heard a reply - a faint reply, which he couldn't make out. But before he could ask again, the sound of running filled his ears. He turned around just in time to see a large soldier bearing down on him. The man threw him to the floor roughly, pressing his head into the damp grass._

 _"Nice try, pal," the soldier wheezed, "But not nice enough."_

 _He dragged the Doctor up. Rose and Jack were surrounded, ten or eleven guns aimed at them.  
_

 _"Sorry Doc," Jack said. He and Rose hadn't been able to call out a warning._

 _The large soldier dragged the Doctor back to Rose and Jack. "Back to jail, I think," he said, "and count yourself lucky. We had full authorization to shoot you."_

 _"No," the Doctor said suddenly, trying to break free of the soldiers grip, "no, you gotta let me see that...you gotta..."_

 _"I really don't. Come on now - back to base..."_

 _With that, the Doctor began to fight like crazy against the man. Although smaller than the soldier, he was moving with such determination and anger that he actually managed to break free. He charged towards the crash site._

 _"Doctor!" Rose screamed, as one of the soldiers lifted his rifle and fired four shots. After he had, the Doctor slowed down. He began to wheeze. For a little while, he kept struggling towards the crash site. Then, with Rose and Jack watching in horror, he pitched forwards and lay still._

 _"No..." Rose whimpered._

 _"B...but..." the soldier said uncertainly, "I didn't even aim at him...I just fired warning shots. He's faking! I swear, I didn't aim one shot at him..."_

 _"Then why..."_

"Put the guns down! All of you!"

 _The command came from the direction of the crash site. No - it came from the crash site itself. From somewhere behind the glowing white light. It was a man's voice, harsh and aggressive. Everyone stared in alarm. The Doctor half-rose from the ground and attempted to crawl towards the site. But he didn't get very far - he was spent. Neither Rose nor Jack knew how or why (presuming, of course, he hadn't been shot)._

 _"Who's there?" One of the soldiers called out in return. Everyone stared into the blinding light. There were figures emerging from it (whatever, indeed it actually was). There was the vauge outline of a thin man in tight clothes. Behind him...there was something wrong with those shapes. They were human-like. But lopsided. They walked very strangely, and Jack was sure he could hear some kind of grunting._

 _Then a laser shot out of the white light. It hit one of the soldiers, killing him instantly._

 _Jack grabbed Rose and the two of them dropped to the floor as the soldiers open fired as one, bullets tearing into the white light emitting from the crash site. Yet the figures remained where they stood. Not one of the bullets hit it's mark. Not one._

 _Back on Yaed, Martha and the Tenth Doctor witnessed the horrible sight of the Other butchering all of Henry Host's workers. Now, here, Jack and Rose witnessed a similar disaster. All twelve UNIT men were struck down in seconds, lasers firing with deadly pinpoint accuracy from somewhere inside the light._

 _Then they saw him - a man emerged from the light. Tomasz Wrench. Flanking him, a handful of the deformed soldiers from Sabb-Landon Xavier 1. Rose felt sick as she saw them - she'd never seen creatures like that, in all of her time with the Doctor._

 _Tomasz Wrench walked over to the Doctor, who was quite unconscious. Jack stood up. "Leave him!" He called, rushing over to the Doctor, Rose on his heels. Tomasz stood back a little, a nasty smile on his lips._

 _"He'll be fine", he said. "in due time." His voice was silky and highly unpleasant, each word dripping with utter contempt._

 _"Who are you?" Jack asked, looking at the man in his strange, white suit._

 _"The Other." He replied. "My name is the Other. And you, I cannot kill. You will go on to be a fixed point in history, and I know better than to meddle with such things. The girl, I could kill. He, I could kill..."_

 _The creatures behind the Other leered, some of them watching eagerly to see if he'd deliver on those threats. They thought he would. After all, he'd tried to kill the Doctor twice before...now here he was! Incapacitated on the ground. Now was the time, right?_

 _The Other surveyed Rose with interest. There was no reason to kill her...but might it be prudent to do so anyway? No. No, not really. Today was a day of celebration. Finally, his Tardis had worked - it had brought them here, to Earth! In victory, it was fitting to be generous. Merciful. But not in the Doctor's case...the Other couldn't quite believe it - meeting him for the third time! And what a different incarnation this was compared to the last times. This one had a dangerous, rugged look to him...it was safest to finish him off right now..._

 _But what of Jack...he couldn't kill Jack. The time line would disintegrate. Yet if he killed the Doctor, Jack would sure as anything kill him in return...the Other merely stood there, paraylsed with indecision. He might have gone on standing there, but at that precise moment a cloister bell sounded, from somewhere in the glow of the crash site. With it, came a metallic throbbing noise - Rose gasped. It was exactly the same noise that the Tardis made..._

 _Cursing, the Other wheeled around. "What is it?"_

 _"The Eye, Your Majesty!" Came a shout from within the blinding light. "I need your help! Come back in!"_

 _Tomasz Wrench retreated. "Kill him," he said finally, pointing at the Doctor. With that, he vanished back into the dazzling light._

 _One of the guards ambled forwards, his hands outstretched - he was planning to kill the unconscious Doctor with his bare hands. That was his last thought. The bullet that passed through his brain put paid to that murderous plan._

 _Rose had shot him, using one of the soldier's discarded handguns. She barely had time to think about it - the thing (whatever it was) was about to kill the Doctor...she had to! Right? The others, seeing she was armed, held back.  
_

 _And that was her last thought on the matter. Suddenly, the bright light from the crash site dimmed, and evaporated. Finally, Jack and Rose could see what it was which had crashed. A small cylinder. A Tardis in it's natural form. A_ broken _Tardis in it's natural form..._

 _A harsh, ringing noise came from the box. Rose and Jack clutched their ears, screaming. The creatures raced back inside. The last memory Jack could recall was of the box fading in and out of existence...they were leaving again!_

* * *

Not leaving, he would later learn. Simply moving. To Mayfair.

"That's about it..." Jack said sadly. "I don't remember anything after that."

"Okay," Clara said, switching off the golden disc. "Nothing _at all_ about after they left?"

Jack shrugged. "I remember a tiny little bit. We got the Doctor back to the Tardis. He recovered quickly. And then we just carried right on travelling. We forgot it ever happened. Honestly, the next memory I have is of Kyoto, in Japan...our next stop. After that, the Game Station. Our final adventure, as it were."

The room fell silent. It was late now - London was fully in dark now. Jamie gave a huge, involuntary yawn, which made Clara smile.

"I quite agree," she said, "it's late. One more memory for now, what do you say?"

There was a dull murmur of assent.

"Okay - Jo Grant. Your next." Clara said apologetically. After what happened to Jack, the Other set up shop in Mayfair. The Panoptican. You and the Third Doctor went there...let's hear what happened. Then Amy, and finally Jamie. We'll hear your memories tomorrow. After that..."

"We call the Doctor!" Martha said brightly.

Clara nodded. "We call the Doctor."

"All right my darling," Jo said, approaching Clara. "I'm ready. Don't hesitate, or I might change my mind. Just do it."

Clara shrugged. "Okay then. Here we go..."


	17. Jo - A Thesis of the Third Doctor I

**_Earth, 1983, The Fourth Encounter_**

* * *

 _"Brigadier," the Doctor said sternly, "be so kind as to sit quietly back there. I'm the driver, not you."_

 _"Yes, but your going the wrong way!" Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart told him for the fourteenth time of the trip. "I told you! Mayfair is west of Covent Garden. You're heading Westminster man! Westminster!"_

 _"Poppycock!" the Doctor shouted back, looking affronted. "Brigadier, will you just leave the driving to me!"_

 _The three of them were travelling through central London in the newly repaired Bessie. They'd been travelling through central London for the past two hours, hopelessly lost. Jo was next to the Doctor, whilst the Brigadier sat in the back seat, trying and failing to keep his cool as the Doctor continued to ignore his directions. He was in a bad mood. Today was officially his day off. But once the Doctor announced that he was taking this ludicrous fools' errand to Mayfair, the Brigadier felt obliged to go along. Just in case. It was a stupid, dangerous trip to be making, especially considering that the tip had come from a giant alien lobster with an axe to grind. The Brigadier had brought a pistol, concealed in the pocket of his beige overcoat. Again - just in case. But the Doctor couldn't even_ find _Mayfair!_

 _"Doctor..." Jo said quietly, "I think you_ are _going the wrong way."_

 _"Well," the Third Doctor said airily, rubbing his chin, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask for directions..."_

 _"Let me do the talking." The Brigadier said firmly from the backseat. "You do have a tendency to annoy people, Doctor."_

 _"Rubbish!" the Doctor snapped, privately knowing it was all too true. Ever since his second regeneration, he'd found himself lumbered with an enormous ego. Enormous. He was, he supposed, a bit of a snob. But he had every right to be. He was stranded on Earth, after all. He was superior to any human. Intellectually and physically. He went about with an air of importance because, frankly, he had every right to feel that way. He_ was _important on Earth. How many times had he saved it now? Goodness knows. How many more times would he save it in his lifetime? Probably a great many more times. So yes. He was important._

 _But goodness knows, he was lonely. Oh yes. His friends on Earth (and yes, he did think of them as friends) were lovely individuals. But they simply weren't a match for him. He couldn't have any real, in depth conversation with them, because they simply couldn't comprehend anything beyond very basic science and history (history, of course, restricted to their own little planet). He was bored. Living in exile simply wasn't good fun. It was true that the Master had pitched up a while back and had been causing no end of mayhem ever since. But whilst the Master had been a good friend once, they hadn't really got the chance to speak much. The Master was too busy trying to kill him. And anyway, he was in jail now._

 _Maybe that's why the Doctor had been so eager to come to Mayfair. Another Time Lord, here, on Earth? An equal for him, at long last. An equal which hopefully wouldn't try to kill him every few weeks._ _It's not that the Doctor craved the company of his people - far from it. He spent most of his life trying to avoid them. But what he did crave was the company of more intelligent people from time to time, something which had been possible on his travels, but which was now much more difficult._ _Maybe, just maybe, this new Time Lord would be a friend...though what he or she was doing here, the Doctor couldn't remotely figure out._

 _Anyway, the Doctor slowed Bessie down, and pulled over to the kerb. They were outside a row of houses, with a few people tottering up and down the road._

 _"Uh, pardon me, sir." the Brigadier said, waving to the nearest person, a young man in a dark suit. He clutched a briefcase importantly, and the Brigadier reasoned that he must be some sort of junior in an important office. Fresh out of school, a few months into his first job, most likely. "We're looking to reach Mayfair. Can you help us out?"_

 _The man blinked, staring at the funny yellow car. "Who, me?"_

 _"Yes, my dear chap, you." The Doctor snapped, staring at the young man. He was magnificently stupid. The Doctor could get a sense of someone's intelligence just by looking into their eyes. This man was vapid. The Doctor doubted that he'd last long in whatever job he'd somehow managed to find himself._

 _"Oh, it's um...I dunno...west?"_

 _"Your just guessing!" Jo giggled, smiling at the young man. He blushed a little._

 _"No, it is west." The Brigadier said at once. "Thank you, my friend. And where are we now?"  
_

 _"Just a ways from Charing Cross station." He replied at once. "Which means you go...thataway." He pointed down a narrow street off to their left._

 _The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"_

 _"Oh yeah. Yeah, that's west. Just keep heading west. If you get to Hyde Park, you've gone too far."_

 _"Very well. Thank you." The Doctor wrenched Bessie back into gear and sped off down the little street._

 _To everyone's astonishment, they arrived in Mayfair pretty quickly after that._

* * *

"But Mayfair's a big place!" Martha said. "How on Earth did you find the Other?"

Jo considered the question. "You know what, darling? That was very odd, how it happened. But once we'd reached Mayfair, the Doctor just sort of knew. Me and the Brig just thought he was driving around getting lost again, but it was almost like something was pulling him towards the right place, and -"

"And breathe." Clara said, laughing. Jo was speaking way too quickly. "Slow it down. You say he knew the way? How?"

"Well that's just what I'm trying to say!" Jo replied dramatically. "It's just like Martha said - we could have searched all day and found nothing, even once we reached Mayfair. But once we found Mayfair, the Doctor just...he just _knew_ somehow. Spooky, isn't it!"

"Och, the second sight," Jamie said, looking worried.

"Not really, no," Jo replied, "he didn't know what was coming. None of us did. But it was like some sort of force was taking us the right way."

 _\- the old man -_

Clara raised her eyebrows. Her large brown eyes were like two huge beacons when she did that. "So where did you end up?"

"Outside the supermarket." Jo said. "The Panoptican Supermarket, in Mayfair. I'd just that moment complained about how thirsty I was, and suddenly there it was."

* * *

 _"Oh, do let's stop, please!" Jo said, "I'd really like a drink."_

 _"Eh? What?" The Doctor said. He was already slowing down. He stared at the supermarket, utterly transfixed. It was an ugly brick building, on a rather forgotten little retail street. They hadn't passed any shops or restaurants that Jo had much liked the look of. Save one - Auditore Da Firenze, a smart looking Italian restaurant. In two more years, the owner of that restaurant, an Italian man named Giovanni Pavano, would take on an enthusiastic young kitchen assistant by the name of Ellie Oswald. But that meant nothing to Jo. All she thought about as they'd trundled past in Bessie was that it looked a fairly nice place to eat. She had no idea of the wider importance that the smart restaurant would have in years to come. Nor did the Brigadier. Nor, for that matter, did the Doctor._

 _Likewise, neither Jo nor the Brigadier thought much about the Panoptican Supermarket, a few doors down from Auditore Da Firenze. It had a weird name. It was an ugly building. But Jo was thirsty. She needed a drink, and the Panoptican had chosen whichever form it thought was most likely to draw her in. The Brigadier saw it as a shop, because Jo did. It only took on one form for big groups. The Doctor, however, recognized it for what it was straight away._

 _"That's a Tardis..." he muttered._

 _"You what?" The Brigadier said. "It's not...it's a supermarket."_

 _"No, no, no!" The Doctor snapped, turning around to face the Brigadier. "It's a Tardis!"_

 _"But why does it look like a supermarket?" Jo asked._

 _"Camouflage, Jo. A Tardis is meant to blend in with it's surroundings."_

 _"Like your one I suppose?" The Brigadier said, smirking._

 _"Brigadier," the Doctor retorted, "Hasn't anyone ever taught you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit? No, I tell you - this is the place. Yarvan don't lie. There's a Time Lord in there!"_

 _The Brigadier shrugged. "Well I suppose one thing I've learned over the years is that I should take your word for things. So what do we do? Go in?"_

 _"Certainly," The Doctor said. Then, he did something he'd never done before. He ran his hands through his magnificent, curly grey hair, and plumped up his suit at the shoulders. He was wearing his black silk suit. "How do I look?" He asked Jo._

 _"Very dapper," Jo laughed, straightening out his frilly necktie for him. "And me?"_

 _"Splendid," The Doctor said. He was feeling jittery. Another Time Lord? An equal? He needed to make a good impression!_

 _Jo could sense his excitement, and briefly wondered if she and the Brig ought not to wait in the car. She asked as much, but the Doctor said no at once._

 _"Certainly not, Jo! No, I'm sure that we'll be made to feel welcome. You said you wanted a drink, after all."_

 _"All right," Jo said gratefully, and they all hopped out of Bessie. They stood outside on the pavement, facing the supermarket which was anything but a supermarket._

 _"Do we just go in?" The Brigadier asked._

 _"No, no." The Doctor said at once. "We knock, of course."_

 _He did just that. Crossing the road, the Doctor extended a fist and rapped smartly on the glass door of the supermarket. The tiled floor was red, and the walls were green. The shelves and the till were white. There were faint roundels on the walls._

 _"Oh yes, this is the place." The Doctor beamed._

 _They all jumped as the door swung open by itself. Once inside, Jo could tell that it wasn't a real supermarket. The shelves were fake. The items on it was fake. It was a dress up of a shop. A disguise._

 _"Anybody home?" The Doctor called out. A door swung open over at the far end of the store, and out walked Tomasz Wrench. He knew the Doctor was coming, of course. He'd seen him park up outside. The Doctor, again! Well this time, things would be different. He'd tried three times to kill him, and hadn't managed. It was time to take a new tact. So he painted on his most sincere smile, and bounced over to his guests._

 _"Ah!" He said, shaking hands gently with all of them. "Welcome, welcome. You must be the Doctor! I've been so hoping to meet you."_

 _"Oh, you know me?" The Doctor asked, shaking the Other's hand enthusiastically. The Doctor had met the Other twice before at this stage in his life. Once, on Sabb-Landon Xavier 1. And then again, right here on this very spot, in 2010. Where he'd finally defeated him. But of course, the Doctor didn't remember that. And that second meeting was still to come for the Other, although the first had already happened for him._

 _"Well of course!" The Other exclaimed, his silky voice dripping with pleasure, "I was so hoping you'd come by!"_

 _"You were?" The Doctor beamed, feeling happier than he had in a long time. "Well, splendid! Here I am. And, forgive me, but who do I have the pleasure of visiting?"_

 _"My name," the Other lied smoothly, "is Thomas Wrench. But I refer to myself as Tomasz Wrench instead. It sounds better."_

 _"If you say so," the Doctor replied, "but I'm sure that isn't your real name, is it now?"_

 _"No, indeed not," Tomasz Wrench agreed, "merely an Earth monicker, to get me by on this charming little world. But I'm afraid I couldn't tell you my real name. At any rate, I don't think you'd believe me if I did."_

 _"Oh...oh, well very well," the Doctor said reluctantly, and the two men finally relinquished each other's hands. For her part, Jo couldn't take to the man at all. He was too sincere. Too nice. But his every word felt forced and fake, as though each compliment and kind word caused him some sort of hidden distress. But neither the Doctor nor the Brigadier seemed troubled by him...or did they? Wasn't the Doctor smiling a little too hard? Wasn't the Brigadier staring at him with narrow eyes? Yes, she thought that they were. They didn't trust him any more than she did._

 _"Now, refreshments?" Mr. Wrench said, his false smile widening. "Please, it would be my pleasure. It's so wonderful to have visitors, you know."_

 _They agreed. They left the false shop floor with it's equally false owner, taking the back door that he'd come through. Ordinarily, this would lead to a staff area. To some extent, it was a little like a staff area. But big. Impossibly big, bigger than on the outside. Big and derelict. There were roundels on the metal walls, and the floor was dusty._

 _"Go on ahead," the Doctor told Wrench," I just need to tie my shoelaces."_

 _"Very well," Wrench said, "the parlour is just down the next corridor on your right."_

 _"We'll be there," the Doctor assured Wrench with a smile. Wrench gave a polite bow and went on ahead, whistling._

 _"You don't trust him, do you Doctor?" Jo whispered._

 _"No, I don't trust him," the Doctor whispered back, "be prepared to get away in a hurry. Brigadier?"_

 _"I'm equipped," the Brigadier muttered, tapping his pistol, "this isn't right. Why is he here? Who is he?"_

 _"I don't know." the Doctor said, his face grim. "But I intend to find out. Come on."_

 _The three of them walked along the corridor a little way, and then turned right. Only there wasn't a parlour. Nor any sign of Wrench. It was a dead end._

 _The three friends stared at the blank metal wall. "We need to get out of here." The Doctor said suddenly, sensing the danger without seeing it. "Come on."_

 _But then the friends got another shock - rushing back down the corridor, they discovered that the door out to the pretend shop floor was locked. Firmly locked._

 _They were stuck._


	18. Jo - A Thesis of the Third Doctor II

**_Earth, 1983, The Fourth Encounter_**

* * *

 _"Now don't panic, Jo," The Doctor said, before Jo could cry out. "Provided we stick together, we'll be fine."_

 _"Doctor," the Brigadier said, pulling out his gun, "I quite appreciate that this man is one of your people...but I shan't hesitate to kill him if it comes down to it."_

 _"In self-defence only." The Doctor replied sharply. "If possible, I have to talk to him...whatever he's doing here, it isn't good. I need to know. Now come on!"_

 _"Come on? Come where?" Jo asked shrilly._

 _"Well we can't stand around here all day," the Doctor said, "come on, follow me."_

 _They set off down the corridor from which they'd come, carrying straight on instead of turning right._

* * *

"But the Doctor's Tardis were huge!" Jamie exclaimed. "How did ya find the way out?"

"We didn't," Jo said, "not for ages. We must have wandered around aimlessly for at least an hour. The corridors all looked the same. And worse, it-"

"-it plays tricks on you." Amy interrupted. "It happened to me and Rory once...it was...horrible."

"Yes my darling," Jo agreed, "that's what happened. We were all together. We made a point of sticking together. Yet we still got separated...it was like a maze."

"Yeah." Clara said, her voice shaking slightly. She wanted to burst into tears, but she couldn't do that. She had to keep it together. But all the same...her mum died in that horrible place...the more it was described, the more it hurt. And not just her mum. Dozens of other people, lured in and tortured, and then _used_ in some ghastly process which Clara didn't even want to think about.

She took a deep breath. "Carry on, Jo."

"I don't know how it happened." Jo said. "One moment we were all together. The next, the Brigadier was gone. It was just me and the Doctor..."

"Couldn' ya have brought him along as well?" Jamie asked Clara. He too had met Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart.

"He passed on," Clara said sadly, "a while back."

"Oh," Jamie said in a small voice.

Jo stared at Clara. "I didn't know..." she whimpered, her usual rampant enthusiasm vanishing. "Nobody told me that."

"I'm sorry," Clara replied, "it was peaceful. I know that much. I never met him myself, but I heard the stories. He was a great man. The Doctor loved him. He'd never admit it of course. But he did."

"He loved all of us." Martha said.

Everyone nodded, dropping their eyes to the floor. For a moment nobody spoke. It was Lady Me who broke the silence.

"Jo? If your ready to carry on..."

"Oh, yes." Jo said, "So...well, as I was saying, suddenly it was just me and the Doctor, and

* * *

 _The Doctor was angry. "I told him to stay put!" He growled. "He really is an insufferable gentleman from time to time! Where did he go?"_

 _"I don't know!" Jo said, panic rising in her parched throat. "He was right behind me!"_

 _"Good gracious..." the Doctor murmured weakly. "Come on, we'll have to go without him...he'll be fine, he was armed."_

 _"But where did he go?" Jo moaned hysterically. The Doctor gritted his teeth. The fact was, Jo had never been great in these situations. Oh no. Some of his friends were like that, men and women alike. The Doctor gripped her wrists and shushed her repeatedly, willing her to calm down._

 _"Now come on! Pull yourself together, Jo!" He barked, shaking her lightly. "We'll be fine. We'll find the Brigadier, and we'll get out. We..."_

 _He stopped. Jo saw his eyes widen in alarm as he stared somewhere behind her, back down the corridor from which they'd just come. Apprehensively, Jo turned around. There was a door. A new door, one which was sitting there now, clear as day, but which hadn't been there a second ago. They hadn't passed through any doorway. It was a little wooden door, rough and ancient with one of those large round latches._

 _The Doctor and Jo stared at each other. The Doctor shrugged. "Seems rude not to...well..."_

 _"Go in?" Jo completed the sentence apprehensively._

 _The Doctor nodded. "Quite. Come on, Jo."_

 _The two of them retraced their steps down the grey, lifeless corridor. The Doctor placed a hand cautiously on the latch and gave it a twist, pushing the door as he did so. It opened with surprising ease. There was a darkened room beyond, a room which couldn't possibly have been there a moment ago. Jo gripped the Doctor's arm tightly - something was stirring in the darkness. A large shape, which towered well above Jo. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and buzzed the lights on. They lit up at once. He took one look at the creature inside the room, and instantly placed his hands over his ears, knowing what was to come - Jo uttered a ear-splitting scream right next to him. Well, he couldn't particularly blame her on this occasion._

 _A horror stood before them in that newly appeared room. It was an ostrich. An ostrich from a nightmare. It was partially humanoid, standing up on two legs, hidden beneath a flowing purple cloak. There were white feathers around it's neck, and it's head was perched on top, a leering pink thing with a monstrous beak. There were wings, also hidden beneath the cloak. It had human shaped hands, tipped with sharp talons. The Doctor had never seen the like, and nor had Jo. Though they both would one day - it was a Shansheeth. It lowered it's beaked head, it's beady, wise old eyes fixing on the two people. Of course, Shansheeth were (mostly) good people. They were, for want of a better word, funeral directors. But as we know, neither of the friends were aware of that at this point in time. All they saw was a monster sized bird, leering down at them. Which is what the Panoptican wanted them to see._

 _The Shansheeth charged. The Doctor and Jo staggered backwards. The Doctor slammed the wooden door, but the bird smashed straight though it._

 _"It's an illusion Jo!" the Doctor screamed. "Deny it! It isn't there!"_

 _"But it is!" Jo screamed back, "I can_ smell _it! It's real!"_

 _"No it's not! It's this place. It's playing tricks on you. Deny it!"_

 _The Doctor shut his eyes. "There's nothing to fear." He said, lowering his voice. "Because there's nothing there. Believe it!"_

 _Trembling like a leaf, Jo shut her eyes. She waited for what felt like an eternity, trapped in darkness. Any moment now, those claws would rip into her, tearing her eyes, her throat, her stomach...ripping her to shreds. The beak would clamp down on her head, eating her brains out in one swallow...she could almost feel her skull cracking under it's pressure, feel the blood pouring from her nose and ears as her head was crushed..._

 _But it didn't happen. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The Doctor was smiling gently. The Shansheeth was gone. So was the door._

 _"Illusions," the Doctor said gently, "nothing more."_

 _Gulping, Jo nodded. "Let's find the Brig. Let's get out of here."_

 _"That's the spirit!" The Doctor said brightly._

* * *

"That was the only nightmare we encountered," Jo said quietly. "The Brig...he wasn't so lucky."

"What happened to him?" Mickey asked.

"He ended up in the console room." Jo said. "The console room of the Other's Tardis. And there was a nasty surprise waiting for him..."

* * *

 _Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was a soldier of the finest quality. Trained, disciplined and brave. Ever since getting separated from the others (and he still wasn't clear how that could possibly have happened) he had taken the utmost caution. His pistol was out, and ready to fire. He crept down the web of corridors, keeping close to the wall, his gun held out in front of him. He saw plenty of doors as he went. Doors like that which had housed the imaginary Shansheeth. He had looked in only one, and that had been plenty enough - it had opened on a darkened room. He too had seen a shape of some sort. A massive great slab of a creature, standing at a whopping eight feet. A massive hairy monster had emerged from the shadows. The Brigadier didn't hesitate. He shot it twice, the bullets piercing it's chest and head respectively. Of course, whilst it looked and sounded like a Yeti, it was a mere illusion, transplanted onto the Brigadier's imagination. So he imagined himself killing it. The creature screamed in agony, engine grease pouring from it's wounds (the Yeti's had been robots). He slammed the door shut on it, and watched in astonishment as it faded to nothing. He got the picture after that - the doors housed all manner of bad dreams. Best to just leave them alone._

 _All that left, therefore, was the corridors. He hadn't seen any rooms besides those behind the wooden doors. Not one. He was angry with himself. He shouldn't have wasted two bullets on something which wasn't real. It had been there to torment him. It couldn't have hurt him._

 _Truth be told, life with the Doctor always set him on edge. The first time he'd met him hadn't been unlike this - creeping around dank, half-lit corridors and tunnels. He was a Colonel back then. London had been besieged by an alien force, and the military had been trapped in the network of tunnels that formed the London Underground, as Yeti closed in on him from all sides. Amidst the chaos, three strangers had appeared. A smart young girl. A highlander lad. And the Doctor. A scruffy little chap with dark hair. The Colonel's first impressions hadn't been all that favorable. The little man seemed...well, odd. Not a weapon on him. And yet he'd saved them! Well...not all of them. But without him, they'd have all died._

 _It had been that incident which led to the formation of UNIT, and by addition, his appointment as the commanding officer of the British division. He was promoted to Brigadier. He met the Doctor again not long after. Some rather nasty business with the Cybermen...and then he never saw him again. Not...not_ that _Doctor (but he yet would in times to come). Although he cautiously accepted that this Doctor and that Doctor were one and the same person, he still found it hard to fully believe. They were both so different. That odd, scruffy little man was nothing like the pompous, well dressed chap that was the Doctor these days. Were they one and the same? Yes, he supposed he believed they were. But it was so difficult to comprehend at times._

 _Rather like this hideous web of tunnels. They made no sense! For instance, the Brigadier had just a moment ago turned left. Then, immediately, left again. And then there was another immediate left turn after that! Picture that in your head - a left turn followed by an immediate left turn, followed by another. That just brings you back where you started, doesn't it? Only it didn't...the Brigadier turned left, left and left again, but he was somewhere totally different! It was making his head hurt._

 _He carried on. What else could he do? He held his gun tightly, ready to fire. That creep Wrench was still around...somewhere. And he had been real. The Brigadier had shaken hands with him. He'd been flesh and blood. So he_ was _a danger, unlike the phantoms in the dark rooms..._

 _Quite suddenly, he stopped. He'd come upon another door. Only this one wasn't wooden. It was metal. Like a lift door. There was no handle._

 _But it was something different. What was the alternative? Continue wandering around these corridors for ever? There was no way out - of that the Brigadier was certain. You could wander for days and never get out. You'd die before you escaped. It was that...or door..._

 _So he knocked. And, to his immense surprise, it opened._

 _The Brigadier blinked. He'd walked into a large, airy room. The walls were a light green, covered in strange round patterns. The floor was a dark red. There were these strange beams supporting the ceiling. And in the middle of it all, something which looked really very familiar. A round console with a glass column in the centre. All manner of levers and dials adorned the console's sides._

 _The console room. The heart of the Panoptican Tardis, the Other's vessel._

 _And it wasn't empty. There, standing in the corner of the room, was Tomasz Wrench._

 _"Brigadier," he said gently, his smarmy voice dripping with contempt._

 _The Brigadier didn't hesitate. He cocked his pistol and pointed it directly at Tomasz's chest. "Where are they?" He demanded. "The Doctor and Jo. Where are they?"_

 _Tomasz raised his hands slowly, an evil smile spreading across his face. "Please, please! There's no need for violence. I can tell you where they are. Better - I can show you. I need to use the console."_

 _"No, I don't think so, if it's all the same to you," the Brigadier said, slowly moving to the console, not taking his eyes nor his weapon from Tomasz. "Instead, you can take me to them. Then we are leaving. You along with us. We've got plenty of questions for you, my dear chap. You can answer them back at headquarters."_

 _"If I say no?" Tomasz said icily, his silky simpering politeness evaporating. "You think...a bullet would stop me?"_

 _"I know what might," the Brigadier replied politely, "the Doctor once gave me a stern telling off for touching his Tardis console when he was working on it. Said I could do a huge amount of damage if I pressed the wrong thing. Now, here's your choice - co-operate now, or I shall be testing a few buttons on your console here. I'm sure we don't want that. Imagine if I were to press the wrong thing! Imagine if I ruined it. Come now, we couldn't have that!"_

 _"I will not be made a fool of!" The Other hissed, taking a step towards the Brigadier. The Brigadier, not really intending to press a single button for fear of blowing the whole planet up, gripped his gun with both hands. The Other took another step towards him. "Kill me, then. Do it!"_

 _"Stay back!" The Brigadier said. He lowered the gun to the floor and fired, a shot exploding on the metal floor near the Other. The Other didn't jump. He didn't even flinch._

 _"Kill me!" He screamed._

 _So the Brigadier did. His gun housed eight bullets. Two of them had gone on the Yeti. One had been the warning shot. That left five. The Brigadier fired twice, hitting the Other both times in the chest. Yet the man didn't fall. The bullets passed straight through him and exploded on the metal wall behind him. Instead of falling down dead, Tomasz Wrench vanished. A hologram._

 _The Brigadier was hit from behind. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as he pitched forward onto the cold floor, his head throbbing. He rolled over and looked up. Tomasz Wrench was standing over him. The real Tomasz Wrench. He'd been behind him all along! The Brigadier could have kicked himself._

 _Three bullets were left. He brought his gun up, but Wrench kicked his arm to the ground, stamping on his hand with one white-shoed foot. The Brigadier cried out in pain and released the gun. Tomasz Wrench kicked the gun across the room and towered over the Brigadier. The Brigadier_

* * *

"Blacked out after that." Jo said, "That was his last memory of being in the Panoptican."

"Was he all right?" Amy asked.

"Yeah, yes..." Jo said, clutching her head. She was speaking uncharacteristically slowly. The memories were making her head hurt.

"Do you want to stop?" Clara asked at once. "Say the word, I'll switch it off."

"No," Jo said firmly. "I'm fine. We were caught. Me and the Doctor. By those... those _things_. The things from that place Ian went to...what was it?"

"Sabb-Landon Xavier 1," Ian replied, "May I ask something before you carry on...you see, I never quite understood. Those soldiers. What _were_ they?"

"I'll tell you what," Clara said, "when the time is right. Not yet. Come on, Jo - if your sure you want to carry on?

"Yes my dear." Jo said. "So as I was saying...we were still wandering aimlessly around, when all of a sudden

* * *

 _A hideous creature appeared, blocking their path. Jo screamed. It was a monstrosity. Worse than the ostrich thing. It was built like a large man. Yet the face was mashed. The nose was gnarled, crooked and dripping with mucus. The mouth was hanging open, displaying a mouthful of rotten teeth. It wore what appeared to be the remains of a smart suit. The eyes were bloodshot, and the skin was a mottled brown-grey colour, pockmarked and leathery. Spots and warts were spread all over it's face. It's hair was matted and greasy, and it smelled horrendous._

 _The Doctor looked behind them. There was another one, smaller and slightly less hideous. They were both armed. The Doctor and Jo were trapped. To his and Jo's surprise, the one in front spoke in a voice which was perfectly human and intelligent._

 _"Come with us." He said. "If one of you makes trouble, my colleague behind will shoot the other one. You understand?"_

 _"Yes," the Doctor said at once. "I trust you are taking me to Wrench?"_

 _"We are," the one behind confirmed._

 _In another impossible turn of events, they reached the console room in a mere thirty seconds. Jo and the Doctor gazed around the wide room. Green walls, red floor, a round console in the centre. Oh yes, Jo thought. It was a Tardis all right._

 _And next to the console, stood Tomasz Wrench. The Brigadier was slumped on the floor beside him, his eyes shut. He wasn't moving. The Doctor and Jo started towards the Brigadier at once, but were held back by the hideous slaves of Tomasz Wrench._

 _"In answer to your earlier question," Wrench said at once, "I shall tell you who I really am. I'm the Other."_

 _The Doctor's mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. "But that's not possible. You can't be! The Other's a myth! A legend. He isn't_ real _!"_

 _"I was real enough to kill him," the Other said, pointing down at the Brigadier. "Oh, not really." He added with a hideous, rattling laugh as Jo and the Doctor's faces contorted with horror. "He'll be fine. For now. Come now, Doctor - how could you have such a closed mind? Is it really so impossible, after all you've seen, to believe in the Other?"_

 _"Yes." The Doctor said at once._

 _"But you've met me before, you know." The Other said, smiling widely. "Me and my friends here. Oh, you don't remember. But you have. Sabb-Landon Xavier 1. And I've met future version of you before. Fascinating, isn't it? How time can contort in such extreme ways."_

 _"Whoever you are," the Doctor said, "and whatever I do or don't believe. What are you doing here, man? Why are you here? You oughtn't to be."_

 _The Other considered the question. "Truthfully, I am doing nothing...yet. I'm simply preparing for times to come. Biding my time, you might say. Waiting."_

 _"For what?"_

 _"For everything to be ready. For the harvest."_

 _The Doctor stared at him. "What did you say?"_

 _"I've said everything I have to say." The Other said. He pulled a gun from his pocket and aimed it at the Doctor._

 _"I could kill you, here and now." He breathed. "My Tardis will take care of the paradox - I could kill this you, right here and now, and it wouldn't change a thing. Those meetings with your future self won't be changed. It's time we resolved this."_

 _"Well, do it," the Doctor snapped, "but let Jo and the Brigadier go. Please...they've done nothing to you. Nothing..."_

 _"The Brigadier did," the Other said, "he shot me. Or so he thought. I assure you he'll be fine...he's just knocked out. A good stamp on the head saw to that."_

 _"Yes, but..."_

 _"But nothing!" The Other hissed. "Time to die, Doctor!"_

 _And he fired the shot, a cackling as he fired. A bolt of energy sped towards the helpless Doctor, and struck him. He exploded into dust on the spot._

 _"_ No _!" Jo screamed, dropping to her knees. The Other looked down at her with pity._

 _"There, there, my dear." He said softly. "It was quick. He didn't suffer, though he deserved to - the amount of times he's gotten the better of me. Me! But don't fret - now it's your turn."_

 _He fired again. Jo was disintegrated where she knelt. The Other looked down at the Brigadier, and considered his options...to kill, or not to kill? To kill, surely? Yes. Once he'd woken up. Yes! Let him suffer a bit. Let him know that the Doctor and Jo Grant are gone...then kill him._

 _The Other turned to face the hideous, deformed creatures whom he'd brought to Earth with him. "Come. Bring him, and let's go."_

 _"To the living quarters?" They asked._

 _"No. To the abattoir. Come!"_

 _The Other waited at the doorway whilst the creatures went to get the Brigadier. They bent down over him, ready to pick him up._

"I say - you chaps be careful how you hold him. He's very valuable." _The voice came from nowhere._

 _The Other screamed in fury and shock as the Doctor burst out from behind the console, Jo Grant along with him. "Haiiiye!" The Doctor bellowed, his hands striking each of the creatures hard in the neck. The smaller one collapsed, unconscious before it hit the floor. The larger one tried to fight back. "Haiicha!" The Doctor punched the gun from his hand and sent him flying in a somersault. He crashed onto his head and slumped._

 _The Other pulled his gun back out, but it was far too late for that. Jo had the Brigadier's gun. The gun that the Other had so carelessly kicked away earlier.  
_

 _"Don't try it," Jo said, her grip on the gun surprisingly firm. "Hands up."_

 _The Other reluctantly obliged, beside himself with anger. He stared at the pair of them, his eyes bulging with rage. "How?" He whimpered._

 _"We've been in here for a jolly long while, my dear chap," the Doctor said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, "your hologram...it tricked the poor Brigadier, but it wasn't as good as ours. Oh no. We programmed ours to die convincingly. We sent them for a little walk...well...you never know when a good decoy might come in handy, right? Seems we made a good call."_

 _The Other screamed in fury and, forgetting himself, reached into his pocket for his gun. Jo whimpered, but pulled the trigger just the same. But she wasn't a trained soldier. The bullet didn't hit it's mark, it smacked into the doorframe, just shy of the Other's arm. He cried out and raised his arms again._

 _"You'll never get out." He hissed. "You think those two are my only servants? They will never let you out."_

 _The Doctor tutted. "Must we keep disappointing you? Deary me...well, my dear chap - it's been a genuine displeasure. I'm afraid we're off."_

 _"You won't get away," the Other seethed, "not this time. Not ever!"_

 _The Doctor shrugged. "You know, this is a much later model than my poor old thing," he said, his face full of glee, "I was a little confused about the controls. But we had plenty of time to look over them...before you came in to set up your little trap for the Brigadier, that is. I mean...if you asked me to pilot the thing, I'd struggle. But then, really, how hard is it...to set up a good, old-fashioned..._ transmat _?"_

 _"No!" the Other screamed, "No, no, no! I will not be gotten the better of!"_

 _It was too late. With a final smirk, and a chirpy little "byee!" from Jo, they both vanished, the Brigadier right along with them. The Other burst into furious tears, collapsing to the floor and slamming his fists on the floor._

* * *

The group once again exploded into laughter and gleeful applause, as Clara once again turned off the golden disc.

"Way to go number three!" Jack laughed, pulling Amy and Mickey into a tight hug. No particular reason for those two, other than that they were standing closest to him.

"Fantastic!" Ian laughed.

Clara smiled, and waited for everyone to calm down before continuing. "So where did you go? Back to the Doctor's car?"

"That's it." Jo said. "The plan was simple - get in, drive back to HQ, go back in force. But..."

"You forgot the moment you were out of there?"

Jo nodded.

Clara sighed deeply and looked out of the window. She was suddenly astonished to find herself sitting on the top floor of the Shard, looking down at the night sky, and the lights from the city below. She'd been so immersed in listening to the stories, she'd all but forgotten her surroundings. "Okay," she said, "it's late now. There are two more stories to come. Amy. And then, last but not least, Jamie. But not tonight."

"Hey," Jamie said, "I'm rearin' ta go, if ya want me to."

"Yeah, me as well," Amy insisted. "I don't mind doing it now."

"I know, I know" Clara said, smiling at them. "But honestly, I think we're all exhausted. I know I am. We'll call it a night, and carry on tomorrow. Not here - I only booked the one night. We'll meet tomorrow. In mine and Me's Tardis."

"And then..." Martha said.

"And then," Clara replied, "we'll call for him. We'll do that before we do anything else. I think what we've heard tonight is proof enough that we need him here."

A buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd. "

Clara grinned. "I've been trying to call him myself...trying to reach out to him through our Tardis...and what's more, I think he sort of knows I'm there. I think he's tried to respond, though I couldn't hear him. I'm not strong enough to make him truly hear me, but...with all of us there, it should work!"

"Now who's doing what?" Lady Me said, "Amy and Rory, your staying on board our Tardis tonight, right? Jamie and Jack also. What are the rest of you doing? There's enough room."

"I've booked a hotel," Ian said. "I'll be fine."

"Same with us," Martha said.

"And me," Jo said.

"Fair enough" Lady Me said, "you sure you don't want to save yourselves the ride back?"

"No," Ian said quietly. He looked exhausted. "No, I'd like...some normality for a few hours. Some time to myself." Mickey, Martha and Jo nodded in agreement.

"Of course." Clara said. "But listen...be careful. The Other is out there. Thomasina Wrench, as she calls herself now. And I've just recently been informed that she knows what we're up to."

The room fell silent. _How_ did Clara know these things?

"She wouldn't be so stupid as to attack any of you in a public place," she continued, "not when things are working out so well for her at the moment. So just make sure you stick to public places. And I'm sure this goes without saying - under no circumstances should you go anywhere near Mayfair."

The four of them nodded. Might it be safer, actually, to just stay with Clara and Lady Me tonight? Ian was about to ask this, but Clara shook her head.

"Nah," she said, as if reading his mind, "to be honest, she's much more likely to try and hack into our Tardis than she is to go after any of you four. We're all in a fair bit of danger right now."

The room went silent again.

"Well," Ian said finally, "I'll be off then. Where do we meet?"

"Well, let's say the ground floor of the Shard." Clara said. "The Tardis will be parked down there. Come on, let's call it a night."

And so, bidding their farewells, the group staying in Clara and Me's Tardis clambered back into the "fridge", which vanished with a metallic groaning noise. The other four rode the high speed lift's back down to ground level (there isn't a lift that goes right to the top - they had to switch to another set of lifts halfway down). They left via the visitors exit, a sleepy guard bidding them goodnight, thanking them for coming. The gift shop was closed up and empty, of course. It was gone eleven. They strolled over to the taxi rank just down the street.

"Well," Ian said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hold on!" Mickey said, "shall we all get into one? Split the fare?" He was worried about letting Ian go on his own.

Ian smiled, knowing exactly what Mickey was thinking. "I'll be fine, young man." He assured him. Before they could protest, he hopped into a taxi and was gone.

Jo shrugged. "Mine's in Stratford. You?"

"Not far from Tower Bridge." Martha said.

"Let's just get one each," Jo said, clambering into her own black, rickety Hackney taxi. The young couple nodded and waved her off, both of them more than a little worried. She watched them climb into their own taxi.

"Where to, love?" The driver asked.

"Stratford please," Jo said. The cab set off, and Jo leant back on the seat, suddenly aware of how utterly drained she was. That little memory disc was exhausting! Yet despite her fatigue, she was buzzing with excitement. Tommorrow was a special day...a very special day. They'd see him again! They'd see the Doctor!

And it was worth it. After all...the Doctor was worth the monsters. Any fear of the Other paled in comparison to the excitement of seeing the Doctor again.


	19. INTERVAL - Taylor

**_Inside the Tardis_**

* * *

There's no two ways about it - hearing that voice in her head was upsetting the Thirtieth Doctor. She had been reasonably happy up until now, peacefully living in New Arcadia. Although she'd given up her travels reluctantly, she truly had been enjoying her retirement more than she'd ever expected. There was the library. The hot weather. The markets. It was a beautiful place. It was even fun, sometimes. It was a huge city, with plenty to do. Life was good. She was ten years into her thirtieth life now - she'd gotten used to being deaf. It had been hard at first. Very hard. She never complained about it, but it really was devastating to begin with.

Sadly, it was just one of those things. Regeneration is a lottery, after all. You never quite know what you'll get. And to be honest, her thirtieth life wasn't a write off by a long chalk. She was pretty. She was young. She was _ginger_! That's something she'd wanted for a very long time, ginger hair. No particular reason...just a long standing ambition. She'd gained a lot, regenerating into this body. If she hadn't been deaf, it would have been more or less perfect. But no...as usual, regeneration gave with one hand and took with another. It really was totally random. And being deaf wasn't remotely the worst thing that can go wrong. She'd known people who regenerated missing limbs. One of her friends from the Academy (going way back now of course) had regenerated with severe lung disease. Regeneration should, and usually does, give you a brand new, working body (a young one, if you are lucky), curing whichever ailments were afflicting your previous self. But nothing's ever straightforward, is it? Oh no. This time round, it cured her illness. It reversed her old age. It drastically cut her obesity. It made her beautiful. But it stole her hearing. Something she'd always had, and something she'd always taken for granted. Gone. Just like that. Oh, sure - one day she'd change again, and her hearing would almost certainly be back. Until then, however, she was stuck with it. Living in eternal silence, punctuated only by Tricky's voice in her mind, or the low hum of the occasional very loud noise.

And so it had been, for ten years. But then, just when she was finally used to it, along came this other voice. This terrified, awful voice, begging her to come and save it. But come where? And why? What was the trouble? She had no idea. No means of knowing. She suspected that being on Gallifrey contributed to that - even the strongest psychic signals have a hard time getting through the force fields which surrounded the planet, and this voice certainly wasn't the strongest.

So what could she do? Someone needed help, urgently. The Doctor, being the Doctor, wanted to help. But _could_ she? If it came down to it, could she really brave the universe again? She'd retired for what she considered to be the best of reasons...yet now, it seemed, someone was shouting out, calling her back into action...

Ha. Action. There had been plenty of that during the first eight years of her Thirtieth life - before she'd retired. Her and Tricky had done so much! So many worlds, so many disasters averted. Earth for her was the late part of the twenty-first century. 2063, to be exact. The Doctor was always careful with time - ever since her exile to twentieth-century Earth (way back in her third life), she'd been careful to sort of...well, go with the years, as it were. If she spent all her time visiting one era, she'd keep bumping into herself, right? Very dangerous. So as an example, in her Ninth and Tenth lives, she'd (or he'd) hung around in the 2000's. Then, her next two or three had stuck mainly to the 2010's. Simple precautions to avoid tearing open the fabric of reality, you know...well, now, in her Thirtieth life, she was up to the 2060's.

Funny times. There had been moonbases. Space stations. They'd even produced some half-safe laser weapons! Global warming was a bit of a problem...well, a potential catastrophe really, but they had it under control. And it wouldn't be long until the fossil fuels finally ran out entirely, compelling them to use clean energy. But really, other than all that, it hadn't been quite so different to the early twenty-first century. People bustled about, minding their own business. London was slightly bigger, slightly cleaner and slightly more metallic. But otherwise, basically the same.

One thing's for sure - the aliens just kept on coming. The Doctor had found herself working with UNIT quite a bit throughout this period. But I'm afraid to say that UNIT in the 2060's was a far cry from the reformed, forward thinking UNIT let by Kate Stewart et al earlier in the century. It had taken on a brutal edge, and the Doctor stood alongside them only out of necessity. Never by choice.

This era of UNIT was headed by a man named Commander Taylor. Commander John Taylor. He was mad. Certifiably mad. As the Doctor stood, alone in her Tardis, pondering whether her retirement might be drawing to a close, she found herself thinking back to what made her retire in the first place. John Taylor was a part of her decision. Not the main cause, but a contributing factor for sure. She could well remember the first time she'd met him...

* * *

She and Tricky staggered clumsily into the rec room of UNIT's London safehouse with a squad of officers. They'd been busy - up all night, chasing an intergalactic thief all around the capital. Thirsty work. The Doctor gratefully took a bottle of water which one of the soldiers thrust at her, and downed half of the contents. The gave the other half to Tricky, stifling a laugh. Tricky was red in the face, sweaty and furious. She wasn't very fit. And they'd been running a lot that night. Now, with the sun just peeking over the horizon, and the sky turning lighter, they could finally relax. The alien had finally been caught, and was now being carted off to a secret UNIT jail in the countryside.

One of the soldiers had messed up a little - a young officer, on one of his first missions. The Doctor had set a good trap (involving a cage, a toilet plunger and a hamburger), which he'd ruined. He'd got himself stuck in it instead of the alien! But no harm done. They caught the alien regardless. It just took a little longer is all. He'd slunk off in shame, though the Doctor didn't feel any particular anger towards him. He was humiliated to have messed up like that.

Tricky sighed deeply and slumped down on one of the comfortless plastic chairs in the rec room. The Doctor tapped her on the shoulder at once, shaking her head.

 _We're off._ The Doctor communicated the words telepathically.

Tricky groaned. The Doctor didn't hear it, of course. But she could tell by the facial expression. _Can't you just let me have a quick rest?_ Tricky thought back. _Just give me ten minutes, all right?_

 _Not a chance._ The Doctor thought in reply. You can have a rest on board. _Come on, I've had enough of this dump._

 _For goodness' sake,_ Tricky rose slowly to her feet, mopping her sweaty forehead. "All right, guys," she said to the soldiers, "me and the silent wonder here are off, okay? We really must do this less often."

The Doctor didn't see Tricky speak, but she saw the soldiers laugh. Evidently Tricky had said something funny...but not really. The laughter was fake. The Doctor could tell by their facial expressions. They were laughing politely, but they weren't especially amused. Being deaf, the Doctor had developed an astoundingly sharp eye, and a knack for reading facial expressions and body language.

One of the soldiers said something to the Doctor. The Doctor squinted to watch the movements of his mouth. It _looked_ like this - "ank fo or elp nigh otter." But of course it wasn't that. Lip reading isn't just about what you see. It's about taking what you say, and using your knowledge of the situation and the context, as well as your common sense, to fill in the gaps. So...what did the Doctor know? That last word, she knew at once. Doctor. She'd seen it spoken often enough to recognize it. But what of the first five words? Right...well, the soldier was smiling. He was happy. Whatever he'd said had been something positive. And why was he positive? What's the context? Well, they'd caught the alien of course! It had been mission accomplished. So...think, think, think...he was happy to have won...he'd said something nice...a compliment? Yeah! Yeah, probably. Now what could you make from the words she'd seen spoken? Come on Doctor, think it through...well, they were parting ways for now, but there wasn't anything that looked like goodbye in there...what else do you say to someone who you're saying goodbye to...well suppose they'd helped you out a little? Which the Doctor certainly had...of course! That was it! He'd said "thanks for your help tonight Doctor." That was it! She knew it!

Her brain whizzed through all of that in about half a second. She turned to Tricky just to confirm, but she didn't really need to. She knew that's what it was. Tricky smiled and signed the words _thanks for your help tonight Doctor_. The Doctor grinned and signed the following words - _any time. I'd thank you for your help, but really I did most of the work._ She watched Tricky speak the words verbally to the soldiers who laughed again. Thankfully, the laughter was less false than it had been for whatever Tricky had said.

And so, waving goodbye to the soldiers, the Doctor and Tricky left the rec room. Well...I say rec room, but assembly hall might have been more appropriate. This particular UNIT safe house was a condemned secondary school in the east end. Of course, all of the chairs and desks and schooly-wooly things had long since been cleared out. The place had failed it's Ofsted back in 2018, and it had been shut down after failing to improve. UNIT had moved in back in the 2030's. They were careful. From the outside, the place still resembled a shoddy, abandoned old school. There was nothing to indicate that it was being used for anything at all these days, let alone as a secret military base. The classrooms now served as dormitories. The assembly hall as a rec room. The PE changing room doubled up as the showers and, bizarrely, the armory. Some things stayed the same, of course. The science labs retained their old purpose, as did the canteen. But that was more or less it. The soldiers hated it, of course. Said it reminded them of being back at school...well, obviously. A nasty sense of deja-vu. Being stationed on duty here was something that every UNIT soldier dreaded. They had a name for it - the cesspit. There were several ruder names of course, but the one that really stuck was the cesspit.

So the Doctor and Tricky left the cesspit, just after six in the morning. There was little danger of being spotted by anyone out of the street at this hour (there was a secret tunnel when the soldiers had to deploy in emergencies). It was only half-light. They crossed the concrete basketball courts towards a shed in which the Tardis was parked. The Doctor was proud of the appearance of her Tardis. As we know, she'd opted for a retro white interior. The exterior was a bit different, however. It was a dark, shiny blue. The windows were white-framed and gleamed. The light was a dark orange, and unusually large. It flashed even when the Tardis was parked, which the Doctor especially liked. The "pull to open" sign was black, with white lettering. There was no St. John's Ambulance logo. There had been, but the Tardis had clearly gotten bored of it, and had removed it of it's own accord a few years ago.

The two women walked across the court in silence. Tricky was too worn out to chat telepathically, and at any rate, the two of them didn't have much to say to one another. Not like before, when the Doctor had been a large, jolly old woman who bounced through life wearing a smile.

But the Doctor suddenly stiffened. Her eyesight, as stated previously, had become remarkably sharp to compensate for the loss of her hearing. And she'd spotted movement. There was movement in the shadowy darkness, a few meters away, around the corner of the sports hall, which was separate to the main school. It was a big grey building, now used as a gym for the soldiers stationed at the cesspit. The Doctor grabbed Tricky's arm, but Tricky already knew - she might not have seen the movement, but unlike the Doctor she could hear. She'd heard the crying.

 _Someone's in trouble,_ she told the Doctor telepathically.

 _Yeah, there,_ The Doctor thought in reply. She pointed to the side of the sport's hall, squinting through the darkness to make out what was happening. It looked like a fight. It was - two soldiers were pinning a third against the wall of the sports hall, as another looked on, smirking.

The two of them stared at each other, and then started towards the group at once, trying not to be spotted. That wasn't easy. The Doctor might have been wearing a black coat, but her ginger hair and those ridiculous green jester shoes of her's stood out rather well in the semi-light. Tricky was wearing bright blue dungarees. She could no more blend into the darkness than she could detach her own nose.

The Doctor could see that they were speaking. As she drew closer, she recognized two of them. Firstly, the man being pinned down - he was the soldier from earlier, who had messed up her trap. He was crying. Secondly, the man watching the other soldiers pin him down. The Doctor hadn't met him in the flesh, but she knew him from the pictures she'd seen. This was Commander Taylor. All the officers were terrified of him. The soldiers were wearing the standard UNIT uniform of the 2060's - a leathery grey-black vest which was meant to stave off lasers as well as bullets, and grey "digital" combat pants. But Taylor was dressed in a traditional green military suit, not unlike that which Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart used to wear. The outfit might have been similar, but the man wearing it was not. And the Doctor was about to discover just how very different (and just how very mad) John Taylor actually was.

The Doctor and Tricky peeked around the corner. There was little danger of being spotted. The Doctor peeked around the corner, and as she did so, she sent a thought to Tricky - _tell me what they're saying._

It was a good set up, and one of which they'd used in the past. If they were spying, the Doctor would watch the incident, whilst Tricky would just listen, and transmit the words she heard to the Doctor. The Doctor could see who was speaking, and thus could understand fully what was going on. That was what they did now. It was easier than trying to lip-read in this light.

"You wanna explain to me why you messed up so badly?" John Taylor said softly, looking down at the weeping young soldier with a sadistic smile on his face. He was a handsome man. He had a wide face, soft blue eyes and short brown hair. He was heavyset, and bearded, a neat little goatee surrounding his mouth.

"I'm so sorry..." the soldier replied, and the Doctor's hearts broke for him. He was a young man. Twenty, perhaps. He was terrified. "I'm so sorry, Commander. I didn't know!"

"No, I appreciate _that_ ," Taylor replied, laughing. "I appreciate that you didn't know what you are doing, sugar. But do you think I appreciate having men who don't know what they are doing?"

"Not at all, sir," the weeping man said, and the Doctor noticed that his face was bruised. "It won't happen again!"

"It had better not," Taylor said. "I arrive here for random inspection, and this is the first thing I have to deal with...it's not on."

"No, sir." The soldier wept.

"All right." Taylor said. "Well, I think you've almost learned your lesson. Just...just three questions for you. Just to make sure." Taylor smiled again. "Ready?"

"Y...yes," the soldier stammered.

" _Yes what?_ " Taylor thundered, making everyone but the Doctor jump.

"Yes, Commander Taylor," the soldier said at once.

"Right. Question one - when you are next on mission, what are you _not_ going to do?"

"I won't make mistakes, sir! I promise!"

"Is the wrong answer! Because actually, do you know what? When you mess up on just _any_ mission, I couldn't give two farts what you do. You could mess up and get yourself and all your squad killed for all I care. Do you get me?"

"Yes, sir!" The soldier replied.

"Well, okay," Taylor said evenly, "that was the wrong answer. But you've got two chances to redeem yourself. Question two - when you are on a mission with the Doctor, of whom is one of our most important and most brilliant allies, what are _you_ , sugar, _not_ going to do?"

"I won't mess up! Never again, sir!" The soldier replied. He was pulling himself together now. He thought he was nearly out of this...

"Great stuff! Right answer!" Taylor applauded for several seconds before continuing. "That's exactly right. The Doctor is precious to us. Precious as gold. We need her! You appreciate that, right? You might be as expendable as a used dishcloth, but the Doctor sure isn't. Without her, this whole world is probably pretty stuffed. Right? So you _can not_ risk getting her killed. Right?"

"Yes, Commander Taylor, sir!" The soldier said enthusiastically.

"Sweet. Just the third question, then...Private...sorry, what was your name?"

"Private Jason Unwin, Commander Taylor!"

"What a nice name. Okay then, Private Unwin, time for your third and final question...I know your very sorry for messing up. You said it about a million times, you sobbing little sack of trash. But my question is this...how do I make sure you are _very_ , _very_ sorry?"

"I...uh..." The Doctor watched as Private Unwin's expression turned from cautious relief, back to horror. "I don't know."

"No?"

"No, sir..."

"Dear me. Well...let me just have a think. I know! I'll knock out your front teeth! Then, each time you smile, you'll remember just how _very very_ sorry you are for messing up! You two, hold him tight."

"Commander..." one of the soldiers holding Private Unwin said, feeling nervous now. Surely...surely the Commander couldn't be serious? This little meeting was in breach of every disciplinary regulation in the book. Surely he couldn't actually be serious about this?

Except Commander Taylor _was_ serious. He pulled out his gun and, without removing the clip, pointed it directly at Unwin's face. "Open wide, or I'll blast you a new mouth." Taylor said. He wasn't smiling now. He was furious.

"P...please," Unwin began slowly opening his mouth, crying and shaking like a leaf. But Taylor ignored him. He smashed the barrel into Unwin's mouth, and Unwin screamed. A fleck of blood rose from his lip, and both of his front teeth vibrated painfully in their sockets. The Doctor had seen quite enough, and heard quite enough too (relayed to her via Tricky). She wasn't going to let Taylor hit him again. One more smack like that, those teeth would fly out. Before Tricky could stop her, she rounded the corner, staring at the Commander furiously.

"What d'you think your doing?" She exclaimed, making them all jump out of their skin. Her voice was slurred and extremely loud. It was like that - very quiet and muffled when she was speaking normally, but if she was angry, she often raised it much too loudly. She couldn't really regulate it, being unable to hear herself.

Taylor stared at her blankly. He was obviously shocked. How long had she been there? Tricky reluctantly rounded the corner as well, and stood by the Doctor's side.

"I'm just...it's discipline, ain't it?" Taylor smiled, trying to make light of the situation. Tricky translated his reply into sign language for the Doctor.

The Doctor stared at him in sheer fury and aggressively signed a response.

"She said, let him go now or she'll see to it that your demoted by lunchtime." Tricky told the Commander quietly, looking down at her feet. She didn't have the Doctor's courage, and it often scared her, having to translate some of the more choice things the Doctor said.

Taylor stared at the two women, a nasty smile tugging at his lips again. "I was gonna let him go," He said innocently, Tricky signing as he spoke. He rounded on Unwin, who's lip was bleeding furiously. His lip was bleeding furiously, but his teeth, thankfully, were still firmly glued to his gums. "Go on," he told Unwin, sweetly but firmly, as though nothing untoward has happened. "Back to your barracks, Private. Dismissed."

Unwin didn't need to be asked twice. He scarpered away at once.

"You two as well," he told the other soldiers. "Yes sir," one of the soldiers murmured. The other, who tried to protest earlier, said nothing at all. They slouched away together.

The Doctor took a step towards Taylor. It was funny. She was five foot three or less, and skinny as a pin. Taylor was a large, broad man. Yet still, he seemed to recoil slightly from her. A burning anger was coming from her, so intense that she was intimidating in spite of her size. It was at times like these when it really showed that she wasn't a human being. She was so much more.

She spoke verbally to Taylor. Her voice was once again quiet and muffled. "I'll be watching you." She murmured. She signed the rest.

"I'll know about it if you ever do anything like that again. And I'll come for you. You can count on it." Tricky translated, unable to meet Taylor's eye.

And that was all. Before Taylor could reply, the Doctor spun around on the heel of her ludicrous, curly-toed jester shoe and marched away, back across the tennis court. Tricky hurried along after her, leaving Taylor standing there, furious and frightened. Not ashamed. A man like him couldn't feel shame. He was only angry at getting caught.

* * *

Oh crikey...the Doctor remembered that first encounter as plain as day. Horrible man. Had he not died that year, he might even have ended up killing her, despite his insistence that she was "precious as gold." People like him couldn't stomach being bettered. They needed revenge. Actually, thinking about it, the Doctor supposed that he got his revenge, in a strange way. For it was this meeting that set in motion the chain of events which led to her being betrayed in a horrible way, and by extension, the brutal, pitiless way in which she'd reacted to that. It all stemmed from that first, horrible encounter with Commander Taylor, and the burning, irreversible animosity that resulted between her after that. She met him again only three times, actually. But from that day forth, he despised her.

But why was she thinking about all this! The past was the past! She thought she'd finally left it behind! She and Tricky had settled into New Arcadia so well. Why, oh why, was all this haunting her again?

She sighed deeply. It was obvious, wasn't it? She had to go back. Not back to the 2060's. That she would never do. Never. Too many hideous memories, the worst of which still made her sick to her stomach to this day. But she had to go back out. Into time and space. Maybe even back to Earth at some point in it's history...because she knew in her hearts that this voice, whoever it was, would somehow find a way of making itself fully heard. It would get through in the end. It would tell her who it was, and where to go. And she'd have to do it. Because she was still the Doctor, retired or not. She saved people.

She patted the console of the Tardis lovingly. It was a nightmare to fly these days. The poor old girl was slow and lazy and tired now. But she'd do it. She'd make the journey, because she had to...

And she was terrified. What happened in the 2060's had changed her, and not for the better. What had been done to her had changed her. She was angrier these days. More vulnerable. She laughed less, and she walked slower. And she was scared that whatever she might find, when she finally met the owner of that voice in her head, would only make her worse...

And the fear of that was tearing her apart.


	20. An (Unwelcome) Visit In Memory Lane

**_76 Totter's Lane, 11:30PM_**

* * *

Ian didn't go back to his hotel. Not at first, anyway. He had planned to. He'd gotten into his taxi with every intention of asking the driver to take him back to the little guesthouse he'd checked into in Hackney. When the driver (a grim, unsmiling man in his late sixties) had demanded to know where Ian wanted to go, Ian had opened his mouth with every intention to reply "Hackney." But what came out hadn't been "Hackney." No, instead of that, Ian had replied "Shoreditch, please. Totter's Lane."

The driver slipped the cab into gear and rolled away. Ian was dazed. What was he doing? Hadn't Clara, very sensibly, warned them against taking any detours? Well, no. Not in so many words. She'd actually said "stick to public places." So really, he wasn't doing anything wrong. Totter's Lane _was_ a public place. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. And this was something he had to do. She wouldn't understand. None of them would.

The journey took about half an hour. By all rights, it should have been less, but London traffic was hideous even at this hour. Ian didn't mind. He dozed throughout the journey, only waking up when the driver finally turned a familiar corner, down a familiar road. "Where about's?"

"A little way along," Ian replied. " To number 76, please."

As the driver rolled slowly down Totter's Lane, Ian suddenly realised that the old junkyard might not even be there anymore...except, somehow, he knew it would be. He just wanted to be here again, for a while. On the spot where it all started. Where he first met the Doctor. The taxi swerved to the kerb and the driver looked around. "Thirty-five quid, mate."

"I won't be here for long," Ian replied, not yet looking out of the window. "will you wait? Ten minutes, and then I need to go to Hackney."

The driver tutted. "Really?"

"Is there a problem?" Ian said, raising his eyebrows, "I've got the money. Ten minutes."

"Gimme the thirty-five now," the driver demanded, "I'll wait ten minutes, but no more than that."

"Fine." Ian paid him the thirty-five, but held back the tip. "Tip when you get me to Hackney. Deal?"

"Yeah, whatever," the driver said. "Say...you asked for 76? That's the junkyard..."

"It is," Ian said, and for the first time he looked outside the car. His heart skipped a beat. There, down a little path, sandwiched between two rows of old houses, sat Foreman's Junkyard. Hidden behind two large blue gates. Ian felt as if he was floating. He was here...back here, in 2020, fifty-seven years after his first visit...he found himself welling up...it felt like only yesterday.

"Your going in there?" The driver repeated. He was slightly worried now. Was this old guy suffering from dementia, perhaps? Why did he want to go in there? Suddenly, the driver's mind was set - he might have blustered and grumbled about waiting just ten minutes, but actually, there was no way he'd go anywhere until this old codger was safely back in his cab, on the way to Hackney.

"I am." Ian replied, getting out. The driver watched him go with narrow eyes. Ian could feel the man staring at him, but he blotted him out. He meant nothing. But the taxi was parked up more or less in the exact same spot Ian parked up in that night...the night that he and Barbara followed Susan Foreman home.

He thought back. He'd been sitting in his car. With Barbara. They'd been so young! They'd just watched as Susan slipped discreetly through those wooden gates (in reality, the gates had been replaced since then, but they looked the same.) Ian and Barbara watched her go in. Ian was a bullish man back then. Ignorant, even. He didn't hold with any nonsense such as bog monsters and aliens and horrors in junk yards. He was too sensible. Barbara, however, was cleverer than him. She'd sensed something that night. What was it she'd said?

 _"I feel frightened. As if we're about to interfere in something that is best left alone."_

Ian had merely shrugged, and said in reply - _"Come on. Let's get it over with."_

She'd known, Barbara had. She'd known something strange was going on. But silly, ignorant young Ian had just blundered straight into it. They'd got out of his car (that was the last time he ever saw that car) and crept through the gates after Susan.

Ian Chesterton crept through the gates now. The driver watched nervously as the old man pushed the gate slightly, and slipped into the darkened junkyard, just as a young Ian and his best friend Barbara had done, oh so many years ago.

Ian looked around the junkyard. He had no torch. He did have, back then. But he'd dropped it! He and Barbara had been looking around all the tat, calling Susan's name cautiously. There had been no reply. Now, Ian couldn't really recognize the landscape of the junkyard. The old junk had long since been replaced with layers of new, modern junk. But as he came on a small gap between two piles of garbage, he suddenly realized, with a thrill, that this was where the Tardis had stood.

 _"Ian!" Barbara had exclaimed, "look at this."_

Ian remembered how his mouth dropped open. _"It's a police box! What on Earth's it doing here? These things are usually on the street."_

There was nothing there now. Just an empty space on the ground. He gazed down at that empty space, overcome with emotion. As there were busy inspecting that police box, someone had coughed. They'd hidden. An old man had come into view, and they had heard Susan's voice from the police box.

They thought he had her prisoner in there! He'd been obstructive, rude and secretive. For a good reason - he wanted to protect them, as well as himself. He didn't want the secrets of that police box to get out. But they did. Susan, curious about where her grandfather was, had opened the doors. And Barbara had rushed in. And then, you might say, history was made.

"Oh, Barbara," Ian said quietly, gazing at the spot where the Tardis had once stood, "how could I ever have forgotten you? I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..."

"Hey, call the cops! There's a weird old man hiding in the junkyard! Another one! Lock up your kids! Call the cops! Old man alert! Old man alert!"

Ian heard, and stiffened up. He felt goosebumps erupting on his arms, and, stealing one last look at the empty spot on the ground, walked back towards the gate.

"Look out, he's on the move! He's a weeeeeirrrdooo! A dirty old weeeeeiiirrrdooo!"

It was a woman's voice, speaking very loudly and quickly, coming from somewhere behind him. Ian wheeled around and saw Thomasina Wrench standing on the other side of a wire mesh fence at the back of the junkyard. He'd never seen her before, but it couldn't have been anybody else. Her hair was blonde, long and straggly. Her face was caked with white powdery makeup, and she wore a hideous frilly red dress.

No. Not Thomasina Wrench, Ian reminded himself. The Other. He was standing in the presence of the next incarnation of the Other, the same person he'd met on Sabb-Landon Xavier 1, all those years ago.

"Helloooo again Ian!" she exclaimed, with a deadly grin, "Come on over here, I won't hurt ya! We'll chat - see if we can work something out. Don't believe everything you hear, now! I'm a nice lass! Don't go thinking the Doctor's all innocent now bubby! Oh, but ya'll love the Doctor, doncha! Doctor, doctor, I have no nose! How do you smell? Terrible! Doctor, doctor, I keep thinking I'm a dog! How strange! Sit on the sofa so we can talk about it! I can't, I'm not allowed on the furniture!

Thomasina threw back her head and squealed with laughter. The sound of it sent shivers down Ian's spine.

"When I choose to come near you, I don't think you'll be so happy about it," Ian said, "because I think the plan is probably to kill you."

"Kill me? Kill me?" Thomasina exclaimed, laughing shrilly. "You can't kill me, bubs! Hasn't the Doctor ever told ya who I am? Hey? Hey? Come on, let's discuss this like adults! Come on over here!"

"No," Ian said, "there's a taxi driver waiting for me. I'm leaving."

Thomasina suddenly exploded. "Get lost you old fart!" She screamed. "One chance - get out of London! Get out! Your too old to hurt me! Your too old to do anything worthwhile! Get lost, you useless old _freak_! Go on, hop it! Back to your grubby little old people's home!"

Ian stumbled back out of the junkyard, Thomasina's shrieks piercing his eardrums. Thankfully, the driver was still waiting. Ian stumbled into the taxi, which pulled away at once. Yet Ian was convinced he could still hear Thomasina's screams as they were driving off.

The driver glanced at Ian in the back mirror. "You all right?" He said. Ian was deathly pale and looked upset.

"Yeah," Ian said quietly, "please, just...to Hackey. As quick as you can."

"I heard voices. Was there someone in there?"

"In a manner of speaking," Ian replied. And he said no more.

* * *

 ** _The Powell Estate, 12:15 AM_**

* * *

Mickey had gotten into the taxi, fully intending to ask the driver to take him and Martha back to the hotel. Instead, to Martha's distaste, they were standing in the middle of a grotty council estate in the dead of night. Blocks of flats surrounded them, looking down on them. There was music - a party was going on in one of the flats. There were youths in hoodies loitering around. The walls were covered with amateur graffiti.

"Why are we here?" She demanded of her husband, who was gazing around the place in astonishment. "Tell me that."

"I grew up here..." he replied distractedly.

"I _know_ ," Martha exclaimed, "but so what? It's a dump!"

Mickey suddenly laughed. "It bloody well is, ain't it? It hasn't changed! Not a bit. I lived...just up there," he said, pointing to a pair of windows high up on the block to their right.

"Okay," Martha said, "great. Can we go now?"

"Yeah, in a second babe!" Mickey exclaimed. "I was happy here, you know...I know it's not much, but I really was happy. I had a place of my own. I had Rose. It was a good life. Simple, but happy. It was enough, you know."

"I believe you," Martha said, and she did. Although she couldn't for the life of her work out how anybody could be satisfied with such a simple life. Her mum and dad had hammered one thing into her from a very early age - strive for more. Work jolly hard to get what you want, and take whatever opportunities come to you. So she did. When she was a little girl, she thought that she'd like to become a doctor. So she became a doctor. It was incredibly difficult, but she did it. She was helped along by UNIT, of course - that was as opportunity if ever there was one, and she took it with both hands, like her mum and dad taught her to. It's funny, isn't it? Mickey had been happy and content to work at a garage, live in a little flat on a council estate, and generally just go through life having a laugh. Yet even now, Martha couldn't do that. Even now, when the pair of them shared a lovely home, with fantastic jobs, Martha was still trying to better herself and her career in whatever way she could. That's not to say she was unhappy. She was happier than she'd ever been. But she could never just...stop. Not like Mickey could. She envied him a little. She'd give anything for that ability to be content with what you have. Maybe that's why she loved him so much. But truly, the two of them were incredibly happy together. All that was really missing were children. She wanted children. So did he. They were still reasonably young, so one day it might happen...

"Then he came along," Mickey continued with a sad smile, "ruined my life! They thought I'd killed Rose, you know. Everyone did."

"Yeah? So that was what...the Ninth Doctor?"

"That's the one," Mickey said. "He was a far cry from the Tenth, I'll tell you that. A good guy in his own way though...despite the fact I was a murder suspect because of him."

Martha raised her eyebrows. "Look, Micks. We really ought to go."

"Too right!" Called a woman's voice from somewhere up above. The pair of them jumped, and looked up. There was a young woman standing on the balcony of Mickey's old flat. Her hair was gleaming whitish-blonde and her face was smeared with white powdery makeup. It was Thomasina.

"Too right," she repeated, leering down at them spitting out her words with astonishing speed, "get out of London, lovvie-duvvies. You shouldn't be here! Ya'aint welcome, ya hear?"

"The Other, I presume?" Martha asked, taking a step forward, looking up at the woman on the balcony. Mickey was lost for words...his old home! How could she have known that? How?

"Lost for words, Ricky?" Thomasina screamed down, putting on an exaggerated northern accent. "How ya' doin', Ricky boy? Mickey the idiot! Just wanted ta drop by, mate! Ya old' pad's a dump, ya know that?"

Mickey didn't reply. He simply stared up at Thomasina, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

"Here's a fair warning," Thomasina continued, "get stuffed. Get outta London, now! Not _soon_ , right _now_! Leave now, or I will _kill_ you! I'll kill _all_ of you! I can do anything, you know. The harvest makes me strong. Punch you in the stomach? I'll rip your bowels out! Slap you round the face? I'll break your neck! I can do all that, and more! You can take my word for it, or you can find out for yourself! Which will it be? Hey? Hey? Ding, ding! Start the clock! Make the choice!"

Martha ignored her. "Come on, Mickey," she said firmly, pulling Mickey away. But it was as if he was rooted to the spot. He could only stare up at Thomasina in shock. "Come on," Martha insisted, shaking him. "Ignore her. We're going."

"But how did she _know_?" Mickey whimpered.

"Does it matter? Come on. She's trying to scare us, because she's scared herself," Martha said, ensuring her voice was loud enough for the Other to hear. "Scared that the Doctor will win. Like he always does. Scared that she's gonna _die_!"

Thomasina erupted with hideous laughter. "The Doctor wouldn't kill me," she laughed, "even if he could, he wouldn't. Not ever! Ya're on the losing side, loooosers! Go on, get lost! Leave London! I warn you once, and only once. Now ya'll should be polite and say goodbye to ya're new best mate, Tammy! Byeeeeee! Bye bye!"

And with an electric blue flash and a buzz, she was gone. A transmat. Martha pulled at Mickey's arm again. "Come on! We're out of here." Finally, with Martha supporting him, he allowed himself to be led away...

* * *

 ** _Stratford, 2:15 AM_**

* * *

Jo Jones didn't see Thomasina that night. Unlike the others, she went straight back to her hotel. Whereas Ian and Mickey had been somehow compelled to visit Totter's Lane and the Powell Estate respectively, there was nothing of that level of significance to draw Jo's attention. Whilst Ian and the Smith's were both safely in bed by this hour, Jo had been safely in her bed for several hours. Thus far, she hadn't slept a wink.

She was simply too wired up for sleep. She often was, to be fair. She was a force of nature, even in her old age. But tonight, she had every reason to be excitable. She knew tomorrow would likely bring mixed tidings. Heck, she might even die! Let's face it, it didn't seem entirely impossible. The Other was a murderous sociopath, and he (or indeed she) was once again on the loose in London. And they were going to confront her! You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to understand how very dangerous such a move would be...

But she wasn't scared. Oh no. Because he'd be there! The Doctor. Jo could hardly wait! Maybe it would still be that weird young chap from the last time? With the Shansheeth? That had shaken Jo up earlier, that had - realizing that she'd actually seen a Shansheeth already, all those years ago. And she'd totally forgotten. Literally, when she saw them on that occasion with the Eleventh Doctor, she didn't have even the slightest recollection. Not the slightest. Weird, huh?

She suddenly found herself piecing together all that she knew. Cor blimey! She was meant to be getting some sleep. But she just couldn't help herself. She was hyped, like a child on a sugar rush.

What did she know? Well...there was something bad here. The Other. A Time Lord, like the Doctor. But not at all like the Doctor. He'd been imprisoned in some sort of...what was the word? Confession Dial? He'd gotten out, and teleported to that place with the big bumble-bees. Made himself King. Then he'd come to Earth with some of the people of that world, and set up some ghastly human factory in Mayfair...but then what? Obviously he'd been stopped once. Presumably, he'd nearly been killed - that's why Thomas wasn't Thomas anymore, but Thomasina...right? But how? What happened?

She supposed those answers would come. Jamie had the last story to tell, so presumably it had happened then. But the thing is, Thomasina _was_ Tomasz. She remembered everything that had happened. Whatever they'd done to defeat Tomasz, she'd be expecting it this time...and what would they do then? More to the point, what would _she_ do to _them_ if it all went wrong? What actually happened in that place?

Eventually, around three in the morning, she fell asleep. Her dreams were punctuated by endless grey corridors, and a shaven headed man in a white suit. She was running, and he glided after her, his soft, slimy voice echoing in her head. She couldn't tell what he was saying. She was running towards someone, but she couldn't make out who it was. It wasn't the Doctor, it was somebody else. She had no idea who. All she knew was that it was somebody very important...

When her alarm burst into action at six-thirty, she remembered nothing of the dream.


	21. Clara - A Talk Of The Twelfth Doctor I

**_Clara's Tardis_**

* * *

Clara Oswald couldn't sleep. So Clara Oswald counted sheep. One, two, three, four...

No seriously. Clara _must not_ go to sleep now! She slapped herself awake again, cursing. She'd nearly dozed off! She mustn't sleep now! She had to keep a close eye on the Tardis. What she'd said earlier, about the Other hacking into the Tardis - that was all too possible. She was in the white, airy console room, and she was supposed to be keeping watch. She glanced at her wristwatch. Four hours until Lady Me would take over, finally allowing Clara to get some shuteye. You might think, what with Clara being technically dead now (in a strange sort of way), rituals such as sleeping and eating and drinking would all go out of the window. But no. Her body still thought it was alive. It still demanded food and water. It still liked to sleep. It's like her heart had stopped, but nobody had thought to tell that to her brain. She was a fixed point, but she wasn't immortal like Jack. Nor was Lady Me. Both of them could be killed for real (and one day soon, Clara _would_ need to return to Gallifrey and face her own death). Not...not _yet_ , though. She was sort of thinking that she'd allow herself to live to eighty. Ninety, even. The sort of lifespan that she would have had, had she not died so young a few years back. She wasn't greedy. She didn't really _want_ a huge great lifespan. All she wanted was a normal human one. Then she'd go back to Gallifrey with dignity, and face her end with pride. Best of all, she wasn't ageing. So even at such an age, she'd still be beautiful.

So what...how long had she been travelling with Lady Me now? Oooh...well, she died in 2015. Yeah, she was in 2020 now, but she didn't think she'd been doing this for five years. She could work it out easily enough by checking the Tardis calendar, but she couldn't be bothered to get up from the chair in which she was slumped. She reckoned it might have been two years or so...sounds about right. Not long, is it? But she'd changed a lot in that time. She'd become rather like the Doctor, so said Lady Me. She took that as a compliment. And they'd seen a lot! They'd been a busy two years, that's for sure. Never stopping, never going back. Just forwards. Forwards all the time. Seeing, enjoying, moving on. And don't forget, she'd seen a fair bit of the universe before she died. When she used to travel with the Doctor. Those times, combined with the years she'd spent with Lady Me, had given her so many memories! Sometimes she felt that she'd seen everything. And then, out of the blue, new experiences! New places, new people. New rules. It never ended. The universe was so wonderfully bizarre! Nothing surprised her any more.

"Hey."

" _Cripes_!" Clara yelled, leaping out of the seat and wheeling around. Amy was hovering behind the seat, looking apologetic.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "didn't mean to frighten you..."

Clara raised her hand, laughing nervously. "Don't worry. Just as well you did really, I was nodding off. What's up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Amy said. "Thought you might like some company."

"Yeah," Clara said brightly. She walked across the console room and dragged another chair over towards the one she'd been sitting in. "How's Rory?"

"Better than he was," Amy said, smirking. "Still a bit queasy I think."

"It'll wear off," Clara assured her. "Go on, sit down. Want a drink of anything?"

"Got anything strong?" Amy said, sitting down. "It's been a stressful day."

Clara sat down in the other chair. "Tell me about it. I think there's some red wine left over from Christmas. Want a tipple?"

"Try a vat," Amy laughed. Clara disappeared through into the living area for a moment, leaving Amy alone in the glowing white console room.

"If that console makes a noise," Clara called out from the living area, "shout for me, yeah?"

"Will do," Amy said happily, leaning back on the chair. It was pleasantly cool in the console room. Just the right temperature for sleeping. The room Amy and Rory were in (a two minute walk through Clara's Tardis) was a little warmer. But a decent sized glass of wine would help her sleep. She'd be out of it in no time.

Clara returned with two glasses. One of them had substantially more wine inside it. It was a thick, dark colour. More black than red.

"Thanks," Amy said, taking the fuller of the two. She took a sip at once and then gagged. "Wow."

"Oh yes," Clara said, taking a sip of her own, "when I said Christmas, I meant Christmas in the year 1548. They were a little more easygoing regarding alcohol content in those days."

"I noticed," Amy said, coughing. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was jolly strong.

The two of them were quiet for a moment. They sipped their drinks, lost in thought. They were both thinking of exactly the same thing, though they didn't know it - they were wondering about tomorrow. About the Doctor. More specifically, who the Doctor would be when he got here.

"Tell me more," Amy said suddenly.

"About what?" Clara replied politely, taking another sip of her drink.

"Earlier you said that the Doctor got older. What happened? What happened to my Doctor?"

"He was fine," Clara said. "At the end. He was ready to go. Ready for a change."

"Yeah, but...what _happened_? Why did he go?"

Clara sighed. "You really wanna know?"

"I do," Amy said. "He meant a lot to me. My stupid little raggedy man..."

"Come again?"

"Nothing," Amy said at once, "but come on...you were there. I know how regeneration works. What made him change?"

"Old age," Clara said, "but he spent years fighting. Years and years. It all got too much. And get this, that was supposed to be his last body. He was saved at the last moment."

"He's got a charmed life," Amy laughed. "So he was saved. Then he turned into the old guy?"

"Yeah," Clara said, giggling. "He wasn't that old really...fifties or sixties by our standards. But a lot older than bow-tie boy. Scottish, you know."

"Your kidding?" Amy said, beaming. "Good on him!"

"Yeah," Clara repeated, "he couldn't really have been more different...he was hard as nails, Twelve was. Pretended to be anyway. It was all a front."

"Do you think...well, do you think it will be him still? Tommorrow?"

"No, I shouldn't think so," Clara replied. "I mean...it might be. But I doubt it. You see, it's been very hard to pinpoint the Doctor. I've been trying to contact him through the Tardis' telepathic circuits. What's more, I'm getting through. I _know_ he can hear me a little. He just can't reply. But..."

"...but?" Amy urged. "But what?"

"Well," Clara said, "fact is, it's not been hard to pinpoint him. It's been impossible. I've got through, I know that. But I don't know _where_. I'm getting through to him _somewhere_ on his timeline, but..."

"But you don't know where?" Amy said quietly.

"No. It's definetley in the future. I know that. I mean, it could be Twelve in theory. But I don't think so. I think it's later than him."

Amy shrugged. "Ah well! It's still the Doctor, isn't it! That's the main thing!"

"Sure is," Clara agreed, but in truth she only half meant it. Yeah, the Doctor was the Doctor. Whatever face he had. But oh, she'd _love_ to see Twelve again. She missed him a lot sometimes. She'd love it to be him, although she didn't think it would be.

It had been the Twelfth Doctor who first told her the story of the Other. A shortened, simplified version of it, anyhow. Clara suddenly looked down at her drink. She'd been drinking back then. That Friday night, she'd been out drinking with Danny. Heavily. For a woman as small as Clara, it's all too easy to drink a little too much. Oh boy...she felt _awful_ the next morning. Truly horrendous. She remembered waking up in bed, sprawled out on top of the covers. Early morning sunlight pouring in. She felt as if her brain had been removed, shaken up in a giant cocktail shaker (urgh... _cocktails_ ) and then rammed back into her head.

Then he'd turned up! She'd totally forgotten that it was a Saturday. With a metallic throb, the Tardis had materialized in her living room. Clara

/

 _groaned. Oh dear...there was no way she could go on a trip today. She felt awful! With a fresh wave of dismay, she realized that she was still in her clothes from last night. A black dress and tights. She was still wearing her high heels and all of her jewelry!_

 _She heard the smooth creak of the Tardis door opening. "Clara?" A deep, gravelly Scottish voice called her name from the sitting room. Clara groaned again. This was so embarrassing. Here he was, expecting her to be up and ready for a few trips (like she usually was). But here she was this morning, too intoxicated to even rise from bed._

 _"Clara?" The Twelfth Doctor called her name again. Clara smiled, despite her pain and embarrassment. He had a funny way of pronouncing her name. Not "Claahhra" like the Eleventh Doctor had pronounced in his public schoolboy voice. Twelve was more sort of; "Claaa". The "r" was there if you listened close enough, but there was barely any emphasis on it. She liked how he said it - nobody else had ever pronounced her name that way._

 _There was a sharp knock on her bedroom door. "Come in," Clara moaned weakly, looking at the door out of the corner of her eye. It hurt too much to move her head._

 _The door burst open. The Twelfth Doctor stood in the door frame - a thin, gaunt man, in a black Crombie coat and dark trousers. Today, he wore a black shirt beneath his coat. He changed his clothes a lot. His curly hair was an iron grey, cut short. His nose was hooked over and his eyes were small, round and watery. By all accounts, he should have been ugly. But he wasn't. He was a handsome older man. His face shouldn't work, but it did. All the not-so-good points - the big nose, the wrinkles and the shifty little eyes - somehow came together to build a good looking full picture. She'd once told him he was a silver fox, but he didn't remotely understand what she'd meant. He was like that. Totally ignorant of any type of slang or social norm._

 _"Clara!" He exclaimed brightly, walking past her bed and throwing the curtains open wide, "I thought we'd start by visiting Midnight. We can have champagne cocktails on the diamond balcony! Then, after that, I'll take you to the distilleries of Fenbatten Four. The wine is to_ die for! _Then we'll go Cardiff, if you want? I fancy some good old British fish and chips, with a lovely greasy frankfurter, doused in ketchup and yellow mustard! What do ya say?"_

 _"I'm sorry." Clara said, standing up and hurrying out of the door, her stomach churning. "I'm gonna be sick."_

* * *

Amy burst out laughing as Clara relayed these events to her. "But he doesn't drink!" She exclaimed. The Eleventh Doctor had always hated alcohol.

"The Twelfth did a little," Clara said, "only very rarely. I think he probably did it on purpose. Saw the state I was in and thought it would be a laugh to make me feel worse. He was a right git sometimes. I don't think he meant for me to throw up though. He was unusually nice to me afterwards."

"Guilt." Amy chuckled.

"Well probably," Clara grinned. "Obviously I wasn't up to taking a trip, so he just sat with me for a bit instead. Made a brew. And he told me a story. The story of the Other..."

* * *

 _Clara sat on the sofa with her legs curled under her, clutching her throbbing head in her hands. The Twelfth Doctor was bustling about in the kitchen, making tea._

 _"Where do you keep the milk?" He barked._

 _"In the fridge," Clara replied sullenly, "where it's traditionally kept."_

 _"Oh yes...sugar?"_

 _"Two," Clara said._

 _The Doctor walked back into the living room with two mugs of tea. He handed one to Clara, who took a reluctant sip. She wasn't feeling well, and she didn't entirely trust the Doctor's tea making skills...but to her surprise, it was great. Just the right strength and sweetness._

 _The Doctor sat himself down in Clara's armchair, taking a sip of his own tea. "So no trip today?"_

 _"I'm sorry," Clara said miserably, "I feel awful."_

 _"You look awful," the Twelfth Doctor remarked. "Shall I go? Let you sleep?"_

 _"No, stay for a bit!" Clara said. "We'll just hang out here shall we? Have a chat."_

 _The Twelfth Doctor's eyes widened. "Oh? A chat? Uh...all right then..."_

 _He trailed off, suddenly transfixed on the contents of his mug._

 _"So..." Clara said awkwardly. "How...how's things?"_

 _"What things?" The Doctor replied sharply._

 _"It's a saying," Clara replied desparatley, "it means how have you been?"_

 _"Oh." The Doctor shrugged. "Fine. Fine. Yeah."_

 _"Good," Clara replied helplessly._

 _"Hmm..." the Doctor trailed off again._

 _The silence dragged on for the longest ten seconds of Clara's life. Finally, unable to stand it any more, she was struck by a brainwave._

 _"Hey! Since we aren't going anywhere today, why don't you tell me a story? One of your stories?"_

 _"A story?" The Doctor repeated, his eyes lighting up a little. "A story! Good idea. Anything in particular?"_

 _"Not at all," Clara said brightly, "whatever you like."_

 _"Okay," the Doctor said, flashing a rare grin, "how about one from Gallifrey?"_

 _"Suits me," Clara said._

 _"The Emperor Dalek's New Clothes?"_

 _"How old do you think I am?" Clara demanded._

 _"Er...haven't a clue." The Doctor replied bluntly._

 _"I meant a proper one. A_ true _story."_

 _"Oh Clara...all the best stories never really happened. But all right. I happen to know a rather good one..."_


	22. Clara - A Talk Of The Twelfth Doctor II

**_Clara's Flat: The Twelfth Doctor's Story_**

* * *

 _"First, there were two Time Lords. Omega, who only built. And Rassilon, who only grew._

 _For the millennia, many contradictory accounts have been given of the origins of Gallifrey. But most sources have come to agree on one thing - It was Omega who gifted us the secret of time travel. He captured the nucleus of a black hole, and saw time itself. He built vessels, capable of traversing the barriers of time. He made engines of awesome power, capable of harnessing the raw power of the universe. He laid the foundations for Time Lord society._

 _Then he went. Presumed dead, his name passed into legend. And Rassilon remained. He grew what Omega started. He molded Gallifreyan society, he made us who we are. Omega built us. Rassilon grew us. And Time Lord society was born._

 _Legends, Clara. Both of them._

 _But I'll be the first to admit it - Gallifrey was a troubled world. Bad things have happened there. And now it's gone. Oh, one day I may find it. I hope so. But don't you see, Clara? By all rights, Gallifrey should be perfect. Our intelligence and our technology and our wisdom...it shouldn't_ allow _for anything to go wrong. Our's was a harmonious planet, for the most part. But it should have been_ entirely _harmonious. It should have been paradise, Clara. It wasn't. Omega and Rassilon made such perfection together, that nothing should have ever disrupted it._

 _Now, many different versions of the origin story existed back on Gallifrey. I'm telling you the shortest and most straightforward version. But there are some...many, in fact...which allude to something else. Someone else. A third Time Lord, who was there at the beginning. And the stories go on to explain why, very occasionally, terrible things happen on Gallifrey. They saw all the bad things on Gallifrey stem from one thing. A being who was there, at the start, and who interfered with the work of Omega and Rassilon._

 _They give him a name - the Other. The Other, who only ruins. The Other, who poisoned the foundations of perfection. The cause of all of Gallifrey's troubles._

 _Naturally, Time Lords and Time Ladies throughout the centuries have sought to prove the existence of the Other. And none of them succeeded. No such person is found in the surviving records of that time. What's what? Why can't someone have gone back to check? Well that was strictly forbidden. To travel back to the creation of Gallifreyan society was always strictly forbidden, for the best of reasons. What if you interfered? What if you changed something? The risk was far too great. Even I never did it. And I never would._

 _And even when Rassilon returned for the Time War...when asked about the Other, he exploded into rage. He made clear, he was back only to help. Not to impart the great secrets of so long ago._

 _So the general consensus, Clara, is this - the Other didn't exist. He was a boogeyman. A scapegoat, created by people looking for something to blame for all of Gallifrey's vices._

 _And yet...something caused the troubles. The Death Zone...the Master...even me! Why did we come about? How can a perfect society have produced...anomalies? I'm just a bit of a rebel, but Gallifrey has produced genuine, incalculable evil throughout all it's history. Why? Why did Omega and Rassilon go bad? Well, some Time Lords would tell you that it was the Other. That Omega built, Rassilon grew, and the Other ruined. Me? I don't believe it. If you ask me, it was Rassilon, who only grew. Omega did his job - he built the foundations on which Gallifrey would grow. But Rassilon made a mistake somewhere. He did something wrong...something didn't go as it should have gone. Be it a bad decision, or a failed experiment...it was that which caused the trouble. That's what I believe. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in boogeymen. I don't believe in the Other."_

* * *

Now, sitting in her own Tardis, Clara repeated the story to Amy. She knew it off by heart - she'd done research of her own since that day, where the Doctor had sat down to tell her a story.

"But he was wrong," Amy said quietly, "the Other is real."

"Yes," Clara said, "real, and very much alive. I mean, I'm not sure about all the "cause of all Gallifrey's troubles" stuff, but yeah...the Other definetley exists. She's here now. Hiding out in London. Leeching off humanity because she's too much of a coward to die."

* * *

 _The Doctor finished his story and got up abruptly. "Can I go now?"_

 _"Charming," Clara scoffed, "finish your tea."_

 _The Doctor downed it in one gulp. "There. Can I go now?"_

 _"Fine," Clara said. She knew he didn't like to sit around drinking tea, and didn't take it personally - he had zero social awareness. But she was fascinated in the story he'd told her. "Why don't you believe in him? The Other? How can you be sure he doesn't exist?"_

 _"Because he can't," The Doctor said, "there'd be records. If there was a third Time Lord present back then, it would be known about."_

 _"Yeah?" Clara asked. "Like Robin Hood?"_

 _The Doctor said nothing for a moment. "That's different." He said finally._

 _Clara burst out laughing. "How is it different? You swore blind that he wasn't real, and look how that turned out."_

 _"Ohh, Clara..." the Doctor said, smirking, "if you ever get round to proving that the Other exists, I shall be delighted to stand corrected. I won't be holding my breath on it though. See you."_

 _And just like that, he was gone. He marched back into the Tardis and took off without a backward glance, leaving Clara alone with her throbbing head. "Til next week, then..." Clara muttered as the Tardis took off, it's metallic groaning filling her little flat._

* * *

"Wow." Amy laughed. You better remind him of that. Tommorrow."

"Oh, I will." Clara giggled. "I absolutely will."

"But..." Amy began uncertainly.

"What?" Clara asked.

 _"Robin Hood?"_

"Long story," Clara replied.

Amy finished her wine and stood up. "Well...I'm gonna go back to bed. Night."

"G'night" Clara said dreamily, as Amy left the console room. Clara knew she'd sleep well - that wine was strong stuff.

Her only hope was that it wouldn't be Amy's last sleep. Tommorrow could turn nasty...in fact, it _would_ turn nasty. No two ways about it. But it was going to happen. Clara never forced any of them to come. She just asked. And they said yes. But still, if anything happened to them, she _would_ feel responsible. It was all her idea, after all.

And it wasn't just about stopping the killings. Not for Clara. It was about revenge. Revenge for her mum. And that was her only concern about bringing the Doctor back...would he allow it? Would he allow Clara to do what needed to be done? Would he allow her to kill Thomasina Wrench? To destroy the Other once and for all?

Or would he try to save her? Would he let her live, on the condition that the harvest stopped? Twelve would see to it that she died. He would understand that it needed to be done. That it wasn't just the only way, but it was also the _right_ way this time. But she knew in her heart that Twelve was gone. The Doctor was somebody else now, and his Twelfth life was a far off distant memory for him now...

* * *

 **Note: I know this has been a particularly short chapter - apologies. Back to normal sized chapters after this one. Keep the reviews coming, love to hear what you all think of how the story is developing. :)**


	23. Making Contact - The Circle

**_Clara's Tardis, 9AM_**

* * *

By sheer coincidence, Ian, Martha and Mickey arrived outside the Shard at the same time.

"Mornin' boss," Mickey said brightly shaking his hand. "You won't _believe_ what happened to us last night!"

"I would imagine," Ian replied quietly, shaking Mickey's hand, "that you were approached by a young woman in a hideous red dress?"

There was an awkward silence. "You as well?" Martha said quietly.

"Yes," Ian said, "Thomasina Wrench in the flesh. She didn't do anything. Just yelled at me."

"Same here." Martha nodded. She rapped on the door of Clara's Tardis. Today it was parked outside the visitors entrance of the massive glass tower, it was dressed as a green two-seater Smart Car, except with blackout windows. But for the handwritten post-it note reading "Anti-Other Brigade" on the windshield, they wouldn't have ever found it. Martha knocked on the passenger-side door, and was greeted by Lady Me. But she wasn't sitting in a seat. There were no seats inside the little Smart Car. There was no steering wheel. Instead, where was a massive white room. Mickey and Martha clambered down into it, helping Ian through after them.

Everyone was there. Martha, feeling faintly embarrassed, realized that they'd been waiting for them - Jo was already here. Everyone was standing around the console. A tight squeeze, considering how many of them were there, and tighter still once Ian, Martha and Mickey squeezed themselves in. Martha found herself standing between Captain Jack and her husband.

"Mornin' ma'am" he said, saluting. "May I say, it's a real privilege to be sandwiched between two such gorgeous people!" On his other side stood Jamie McRimmon. Jamie glanced at Jack uncomfortably.

"Och, I'm a guy!" Jamie exclaimed. "Ye can't go sayin' these things now!" Jamie wasn't prejudiced. Quite simply, back in the 1700's, people didn't speak like that.

Jack winked, "I'm a fifty-first century kinda dude, James. We're open about who we fancy!"

"Anyway." Clara said firmly, before Jamie could reply. "I hope we all got a good night sleep? Despite...things."

"Actually no," Ian said, "I saw her last night. So did the Smith's. I don't know how she found me, she was just _there_ suddenly."

To everyone's astonishment, Clara nodded. "I know."

"Well how do you know?" Mickey demanded, gaping at her.

"I have my sources," Clara said dismissively, "I did warn you not to go wandering off. Jo here went straight to her hotel, and she was fine."

"Well, so were we," Martha said, "all she did was scream at us. Try to scare us into leaving."

"Yeah I know," Clara said, smiling, "you were at the Powell Estate when that happened. Ian, you were at Foreman's Junkyard. That was a bad call on all your parts. I get it though...I get why you went. I'd have probably done the same. Ended up at Coal Hill School or something crazy."

"Ooh, I didn't think of that," Ian said, chuckling sarcastically, "see what they've done to the place now? Very fancy these days."

"I know," Clara said.

"What _don't_ you know?" Rory suddenly exclaimed. Everyone laughed, including Clara.

"Plenty," Clara giggled, "for example, the last two pieces of the story. Your part, and Jamie's. We'll do that today - we'll finish the story of Tomasz Wrench. Then we'll deal with Thomasina. But first...there's someone who I know we're all desperate to see. Someone who really ought to be here with us...I think it's high time we get him here, what do you say?"

The group nodded, a buzz of excitement filling the room.

"Great stuff," Clara said, flicking a few switches. "So...here's what we're gonna do..."

For a moment, she said nothing. She was fiddling with the controls, walking around the circular panels and squeezing between people to press the buttons which needed pressing. Finally, she nodded. "Make a hole," she said to Rory and Jo, who split apart, allowing her to squeeze between them.

"Before me, I have the Tardis' telepathic circuits," Clara said to the group, "I've been using them to call him for a while now...with limited success. He hears me. I think he's been trying to respond. But he can't. He doesn't know what I'm saying, he can't answer back...but I know he hears me."

"Clara isn't strong enough on her own," Lady Me explained to the group, many of whom were looking bamboozled, "but with this many of us...well, it'll be louder. Put it that way."

"Exactly," Clara said. "So...all of you link hands."

Everyone obliged. Jamie took Jack's hand very reluctantly. "Don't try nothin' now," he warned, "Ye don't want ta upset a McRimmon now, d'ya?"

"Maybe," Jack said, winking.

"Stop it." Clara said to Jack, rather like the Doctor used to. Jack grinned, but fell silent willingly enough. They were all linking hands - Ian, Jo, Clara, Rory, Amy, Mickey, Martha, Jack, Jamie and Lady Me. They were powerful now. They'd formed a circle around a telepathic piece of equipment, and already they could feel a peculiar sort of energy building inside of them. Suddenly, everything was thrown into, you might say, high-definition. Their senses were sharpened, their memories were crystal clear and glowing. Suddenly, Jamie doubled over. Jack and Lady Me gripped his hand tightly, and managed to keep him from falling.

"Sorry," he murmured, "I can remember it! I remember the man in white! A tiny bit...we were there...me, the Doctor and Zoe...in the dark. But what were we doing there? I...I saw something awful...I think...I saw what he was doing in there! But I don't remember..."

"It's the telepathic link," Clara said soothingly, "it's built around the same technology as my little disc. It's giving you snapshots, that's all. You'll remember the whole thing once you look into the disc. You feeling it too, Ponds?"

Amy and Rory nodded tightly. They couldn't remember meeting Tomasz Wrench, but they could remember something...it was fighting to get out, but it couldn't. Not yet.

Jo had a different experience. She remembered, just very briefly, the dream that she'd had last night...there'd been someone there. Someone important. Some sort of...force. Suddenly, she found herself staring at Ian. It occurred to her suddenly how very _old_ he was. She was old, but he was _so_ old. For a moment, she found herself obsessing over his age...it wasn't him which was important, it was how very old he was. He was an old man. An old man...

Jo realized that Clara was talking again, and quickly snapped her gaze away from Ian. "So here's the plan," Clara said finally, "in a moment, I'm gonna break the circle and turn on the telepathic circuits. I've got to hold onto them, so Rory and Jo, you'll need to grab hold of me...er...somewhere else. Any exposed skin. Erm...blimey, that sounded fine in my head...okay, roll up my sleeves for me when I say so - do it quickly mind you - and hold my arms. But you must not take my hands away from that circuit. You understand? Right now, telepathic energy is building up around us at a fantastic rate. If we break the circle for anything more than a few seconds, it will all drain away. Any questions?"

There were none. Clara nodded. "Great. So...when I'm holding onto that circuit, you all need to think of him. The Doctor. Whichever one, or ones plural, you knew. Think how much you want to find him. How much you want him here...you'll feel it when you've reached into his mind. When you feel that - which we all will - tell him where we are. Don't bother trying to explain what's been happening, that's too complex to send telepathically. Just think "London, 2020." That's enough. He'll lock onto us easily enough once he knows the rough location. Think "London, 2020." And then think "will you come?" Clear?"

"Let's do it," Amy said suddenly, "we've talked enough about it. We're all ready. Let's bring him back."

Clara grinned. Everyone in the circle was grinning. "All right," Clara said. "I'm breaking the circle. Jo, Rory, remember to grab into my arms. Quick as you can. All right...breaking the circle in one...two..."

Suddenly, Rory released her hand and grappled with her sleeve. Clara grabbed back onto him like lightning.

"Woah, woah, woah!" She exclaimed. "What are you doing? You went on two! Who goes on two?"

"I must apologize for my husband," Amy said through gritted teeth.

"No, it's one, two, go" Rory said defiantly, "the "three" is go."

"I've tried to tell him," Amy said.

"No, it's _one, two three, go,_ " Clara snapped.

Rory paused..."but then you'd be going on the four..." Everyone groaned. "All right fine," he said, "it's your Tardis. If you wanna go after the three, be my guest."

"Thank you. I will." Clara said. Everyone could tell she wasn't really annoyed. She was trying to hide it, but she was just as excited as they all were. "On three. One. Two. Three. Breaking!"

Clara took her hands away from Rory and Jo and plunged her fingers down into the telepathic circuits. It wasn't organic like it had been on the Doctor's Tardis - her's was a simple panel with finger shaped holes in it, which glowed green as her hands slid into place. Rory and Jo scrabbled to roll up the sleeves of Clara's cropped leather jacket, and held her tightly around the wrist.

The circle was complete. And the circle was transmitting. They could feel it. All of them were thinking back remembering as much as they could (which unlike a few days ago, was now almost everything). So many thoughts...so many memories. So many places, so many times. But always the Doctor. Always him. Ian thought of a grumpy old man with a twinkle in his eye. Jamie's was a little man in a scruffy outfit, and, briefly, a large man with curly blonde hair and a colourful coat. Two for Jo - a refined upper class gentleman, and a hysterical young man in a bow-tie...all of them had their Doctor's. But, as they now understood, they were all thinking of the same person. He looked different, sounded different, acted different...but it was _always_ him. Martha saw him as handsome, with a long coat. Mickey saw that too, but along with Jack, thought also of a tough guy in a leather jacket. Amy and Rory, like Jo, pictured the man in the bow-tie. As did Clara. But she also, along with Lady Me, remembered the gruff older man with the wild grey hair...

They all remembered him. They remembered what they did with him. So many memories! So many lives!

And then, all at the same time, they saw her. In their minds. They saw a pretty young woman, with orange hair. She wore dark clothes, aside from her shoes - bottle green with curly tips. Like a jester, or a genie.

"Who is _that_?" Amy cried out in exhilaration. They could all feel the power shuddering through them, channeling through their connected hands and into Clara, who poured it into the telepathic circuits, calling out...but also, it seemed, receiving.

"That's him," Clara said in astonishment. "Or rather her...that's the Doctor!"

"A woman?" Ian cried out in amazement. "He's become a woman?"

"He can be anything," Jack said, laughing, "and anyone...that's her. She's the Doctor!"

"We've got her," Lady Me yelled - they were all shouting, and they didn't quite know why. Sheer thrill and excitement, they supposed. "We've found her! Can she hear us?"

"She will," Clara yelled back, "Ready guys? You know what we need to say?"

As one, the crowd shouted. _"London 2020! Will you come?"_

 _"Will you come?"_ Clara cried out, _"Please Doctor...please, please will you come?"_

* * *

 _ **Gallifrey**_

And far, far away, millions of years and trillions of light years through time and space, the Thirtieth Doctor finally heard.

She'd been sitting in the New Arcadia Library, reading a book about juggling - a useful skill to have - when suddenly, clear as day, the voice returned. And this time, she knew she could reply. And despite any misgivings, there was only one answer to give.

 _On my way,_ she transmitted back. She stuffed the book back where she'd found it (she wouldn't dream of leaving it anywhere else) and, hearts racing, raced out of the library. She was going. Whatever her fears, whatever her worries, she was going. Because she knew those voices! She knew who they were. And she wanted to see them. She raced through the streets of New Arcadia, not pausing to look at anything, or anyone. It all just blurred past. People were staring at her, but she couldn't care less.

Twenty minutes later, she staggered back into the Tardis. Tricky was there, painting her fingernails.

 _Blimey O'Riley!_ Tricky said telepathically - it was a particularly hot day in New Arcadia, and the Doctor looked exhausted - _what's up?_

 _We're going. Earth. 2020. I heard the voice again. I know who it is, and I know where it's from!_

Tricky grinned. "Fantastic!" She exclaimed verbally, punching the air. A trip! Another adventure! After so long...

Grinning, she and the Doctor raced to the console and started work, priming the engines and checking the systems - it had been a long time since the poor old Tardis had flown...

* * *

 ** _Clara's Tardis_**

 _On my way,_ the thought echoed in everyone's mind.

"We've done it!" Clara laughed.

Everyone cheered. They burst into rapturous applause, hugging each other tightly and beaming. The Doctor was coming back! The Doctor was coming! Suddenly, Thomasina Wrench and all that she stood for seemed entirely irrelevant and pathetic.

The Doctor was coming back!


	24. Reunion - Number Thirty Flies Again I

**_The Doctor's Tardis_**

* * *

With the last of the startup routines complete the Doctor and Tricky stood together in silence, staring at each other. They were each a little nervous. Well...more than a little, to be honest. Not merely about whatever trouble they'd find in 2020, but the actual getting there as well. The Tardis wasn't...wasn't _quite_ the sturdy old ship she once was. Oh, she could still fly. But it was all _that bit_ harder these days. All _that bit_ more dangerous. I mean, in theory, everything was sound. The engines were primed, and growling - ready to roar into life. The safety systems were engaged. The shields were up. The co-ordinates were set. Everything should be fine. Get there, save the world, go back home. Just like the old days.

But then of course, theory and reality are two very different things. The Doctor knew that better than anyone, having been the semi-successful pilot of the Tardis for over four thousand years by this point in her life.

The Doctor and Tricky continued to stare at each other, hearts racing (count four) and adrenaline pumping. _Well_ , the Doctor transmitted to Tricky, _I think...we're all set._

 _I think so, too._ Tricky thought back. _All my prep is done- shields up, safety gears on._

 _Good, good. All done on my side too._ The Doctor looked from Tricky, to the controls, back to Tricky again. She still didn't touch any of the controls.

 _I'm nervous...it's been a while._ The Doctor grinned shakily.

Then, Tricky did something that she hadn't done for a long time. She reached forwards and took the Doctor's hand in hers.

"You can do this," Tricky said out loud, loosely signing the words with her free hand. "Just believe it - I know you can."

"I could," the Doctor mumbled, staring helplessly at the controls, "once..."

Tricky was just about to reply, when suddenly, in a moment of bravery (or recklessness), the Doctor yanked the main lever. She drew her hand away quickly, looking shocked at her own courage.

Tricky laughed. The pair of them felt the floor beneath their feet begin to vibrate. A metallic throbbing noise began to fill Tricky's ears, and the rotor slowly began to turn and rise. The lights of the plain white room started flaring.

"We're away!" She whooped, playfully punching the Doctor on her arm. The Doctor smiled crookedly. She was pleased with herself - for a moment there, she'd thought she was about to chicken out. She'd been terrified at the prospect of flying this old clanger again after so long, yet now they were in flight, it felt like she'd never stepped away from the controls. She knew exactly what do to. Yet beneath her elation, a deep-seated sadness filled her hearts. They'd taken off - but she hadn't heard it. That wonderful, hopeful sound of the engines throbbing...she hadn't heard it for so long. She missed it so much, that noise...

Tricky, of course, heard everything. And, five minutes into the flight, over the throb of the engines, a deep, bone-rattling _clang_ sounded from somewhere deep within the Tardis. The noise sounded once, twice, three times. Tricky gasped.

 _Doctor!_ She thought urgently. C _loister bell!_

The Doctor grimaced, and held her hands out helplessly. "But what's wrong?" She shouted loudly. She turned to Tricky. "Fault locator!"

Tricky nodded, and rushed away from the console, moving over to the large panel which was stuck in the wall. It contained numerous little bulbs, which represented different components and systems within the ship. It was simple - when a fault arose in a certain system, the bulb which represented that system would flicker on. As simple as that. Trouble is, there were a lot of bulbs. It took Tricky a few moments to scan through them all. Finally she saw it - J62L6. She rolled her eyes.

 _It's the bloody engines again!_ She transmitted.

The Doctor scoffed. Every time! She'd sort of assumed that after a two year rest, the Tardis might actually find the strength to complete the journey of it's own accord. Clearly not.

"Come on, old girl! On! Hurry! On, on, on!" The Doctor exclaimed, patting the Tardis console. "On, on, on!"

And the Tardis listened.

For the last fifty years of her travels, the Tardis hadn't once completed a journey by itself. Oh no. It simply got tired mid-way through, and tried to switch off, dumping them down at the nearest convenient spot, so that it could take a rest. The only way to encourage it was, so the Doctor had soon discovered, to actually encourage it. Verbally. The Tardis was alive. It might be ancient and, as the Doctor sometimes suspected, senile, but it was still very much alive. Still listening.

"Yeah, go on!" Tricky exclaimed, rejoining the Doctor at the console. "Go on, old girl! On! Go on! You can do it! On!"

"Go on!" The Doctor insisted, urging the Tardis on. "Go on! On!"

The cloister bell continued to ring, unheard by the Doctor, but splitting Tricky's ears. "Come on!" Tricky said. "On, on, on! Hurry!"

The bells continued to ring, but Tricky was sure there were beginning to pick up speed.

"Come oooon!" The Doctor screamed, half-crazy with enthusiasm. "On! On! On!"

And it did. It loved the Doctor. It might be old, but it was as loyal as ever. It didn't want to let her down. The cloister bells cut off, and with a fresh surge of power, the Tardis began to shoot through the time vortex, just like it had done in the old days. Faster they went, and faster still. The two women gripped the console tightly, afraid they'd be thrown across the room if they let go.

"That's it!" Tricky yelled, "keep going, old girl! On!"

"On!" The Doctor exclaimed, holding on tight as laughing. "Keep going! On, on, on!"

And the old girl _did_ go on! They were travelling through the vortex at astonishing speed. Nothing was going to stop her now! She was on fire!

 _Well_ , The Doctor thought to Tricky happily, _now all we've got to worry about is landing safely..._

Tricky laughed nervously. But the Doctor wasn't joking.

* * *

 ** _Outside Clara's Tardis, 2020_**

* * *

The group stood outside the little green "Smart Car". They were attracting a good deal of attention, and it was no small wonder - they were all grinning, staring around urgently, looking for any sign of a little blue box. More than a handful of the passers by wondered if they were on drugs or something...but if so, they were the strangest group of druggies - one of them, a man, looked to be about a hundred!

"She will find us, right?" Lady Me asked Clara.

"Yeah, we're putting out a signal," Clara said confidently, "she'll be here. She'll find us."

Clara sounded confident. Truth be told, she was a suddenly very anxious. Not anxious that the Doctor wouldn't find them - she absolutely would. But anxious about what the Doctor would make of all this...Clara dragging all these people back, putting them all in danger. Would the Doctor be impressed about that? Would she appreciate it? Heck, it could have been hundreds of years since she'd met Clara, let alone people like Ian, Jamie and Jo. Would the Doctor really thank her for bringing them back? For the first time, Clara began to feel a tinge of doubt. What would the Doctor really make of all this? And who was this strange little Doctor with the bright orange hair? What was she like? Would...a horrible thought popped into Clara's head... would she even remember Clara? Or any of their adventures? Because if she didn't remember that, she sure as anything wouldn't remember anything before that. Might she not remember any of them? At all? For the first time since she'd started this whole, foolhardy business, Clara suddenly felt unsure about herself.

But then a metallic throbbing started to fill the air. Too late for doubts now!

"I can hear it!" Jo gasped.

"She's here," Jack said breathlessly. He brought a small round mirror from his pocket, examining himself and smoothing his hair. Amy and Rory held onto each other tightly. Nobody spoke. Nobody even breathed.

But where was it? Where was the little blue box? The group had twenty eyes between them, and not one of them could see it...there was the street, a scattering of pedestrians (who paid no heed to the sound), and of course the Shard, towering high above them. But where was the Tardis?

It was Mickey Smith who spotted it first. He recalled a time, many years ago now, when the Tardis had appeared in mid-air, crashing violently to the ground, the newly regenerated Tenth Doctor stumbling out in his predecessor's clothes. As such, it was he who first thought to look up. For a few moments, he saw nothing. Just the blue, cloudy early spring sky, and, of course part of the gargantuan tower of which they stood below. He couldn't see the spire. That was too high up from this angle.

And then he spotted it. High above, floating in mid air. A dark blue box.

"There!" He cried. The team looked up in astonishment.

"But what's he...what's she _doing_?" Ian snorted, staring up at the box. It was hovering, at a height which stood about three quarters of the way up the Shard. Just hovering. Bobbing up and down...

* * *

 _ **The Doctor's Tardis**_

* * *

"What are you _doing_?" Tricky exclaimed. The Doctor was jerking the landing gear up and down, frowning. Why wasn't it responding? She'd done everything right! She looked up - she thought she'd seen Tricky speak out of the corner of her eye.

"What?"

 _What are you doing?_ Tricky repeated telepathically.

 _I don't know...it...well it says it's landed! Look, see for yourself..._

Tricky came around to where the Doctor was standing, and looked at the readings. Yes - the stationary light was on. The old Tardis was insisting that they'd arrived, that they'd landed safely. She refused to believe otherwise.

 _Well great,_ Tricky thought, _what do we do now?_

 _Erm...well, all we really can do is shut the safety systems down...let good old reliable gravity bring us down._

 _Spectacular,_ Tricky transmitted sarcastically, _and if you crush someone?_

 _You know I won't. The Tardis would never land on anything living._ The Doctor reached into the pocket of her long black coat, pulling out a small silver tube. There was a blue light on the end. _Mark our landing zone. Setting four._

Tricky took the sonic screwdriver and opened the doors. These were the big, heavy duty double doors, not the single "police box" set that the Tardis had used in the past. They swung open with a buzz. Tricky peered out and shuddered. That was a long way down. At this height, the wind should have been dangerously strong, and freezing. But the Tardis kept it out, and Tricky was able to carefully lean out and examine what was directly below. There was a group of people. Ten of then, Tricky counted quickly. Far, far below, looking up.

Tricky engaged setting four on the screwdriver and pointed it at the road, a few feet ahead of the group. She pressed the button. A dim blue laser light shot out of the end of the little rod, and struck the tarmac surface of the empty road.

 _All set,_ she told the Doctor. She took a deep breath. This was going to be nasty.

* * *

 ** _Down Below_**

* * *

Clara saw a tiny figure peering out of the police box above. Suddenly, a dim blue laser light hit the road just before them. For a moment, Clara stared at it, unsure what was going on...

"Uhh..." Amy said slowly, "Are they gonna crash land just there?"

"Oh, yeah," Clara said simply, "I guess they are. Let's all just...step back a bit. What do you say?"

The group didn't need to be asked twice. They moved back, ducking down behind Clara's "Smart Car", looking up. Suddenly, the throbbing noise stopped. The Tardis stopped bobbing up and down. It fell, gracefully and slowly at first, but gathering speed by the nanosecond. It was still vertical, thank goodness. It appeared to be freefalling, but yet it was sticking rigidly to the little laser path which had been set up for it. Clara shut her eyes...the box was halfway down...a quarter...

With an Earth-shattering thud, the Tardis smacked into the concrete road, sending clouds of dust up all around it. Clara saw the surface of the road crack underneath the box. The doors were open! Inside was a white room, very much like the inside of her Tardis. The Doctor had gone retro. Well, the Tardis had anyway.

The group slowly moved out from behind Clara's Tardis. There was a fine cloud of dust in the air. They watched with bated breath...a woman emerged from the police box. A small woman in dungarees and a vest top. Her hair was askew and her face was grim. She looked like she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. Or, indeed, dropped from a great height inside a small wooden box.

"Yo." She said simply, massaging her neck.

"Who are you?" Martha exclaimed.

"Who are _you_?" The little woman replied rudely.

"You aren't the Doctor..." Jamie said, confused. "We saw her."

"Isn't it obvious?" Clara said. "Your her friend, aren't you? Her...her current companion, as it were?"

"Tricky." The woman said.

Jack sniggered. Tricky glared at him.

"So anyway, may I introduce the pilot of whom performed that _fantastic_ bit of driving you just saw. But then again, I think she's already known you...hold on..."

They watched as the woman screwed up her face in concentration. They didn't know what she was doing, but of course she was transmitting her thoughts to the Doctor. _Oi, Doc - get out here, will you? We've got a welcoming committee._

 _All right, I'm coming,_ came a reply, _I was just putting the fires out._

Tricky moved aside. Another woman stood in the doorway. Even smaller than her friend, ginger, dressed in a black coat and green curly shoes.

The Doctor was back.

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the group. Her head hurt...so many of them! How could it be? So many people...so many memories...and they were all here...all of them were beaming at her. She saw someone - a dark skinned, pretty woman - say something, but she didn't catch it, and didn't have time to read her lips. Could have been anything. Who was that woman? Mandy...Mel...no, Martha! Of course! Martha Jones. She remembered. It was all still there, tucked away at the back of her mind. Memories, untouched in years, but still wonderfully intact.

She smiled nervously. "Hello again..." She said awkwardly. What else was there to say?


	25. Lesson Time

**_Clara's Tardis, 12PM_**

* * *

The Doctor and Clara sat down in Clara's console room, occupying the same seats that she and Amy had sat in the night before. It was just the two of them. Lady Me had taken everyone else out to lunch. The Doctor and Clara had been due to go with them, but the Doctor had taken Clara to one side. The morning had been spent "mingling" as it were, everyone wanting to chat to the Doctor again, to ask how she was, and to reminisce about old times. The Doctor had played along. Don't get me wrong, she was delighted to see them all again, in her own way. But small talk was never her thing (especially now), and she was quickly rather bored of it all. So, just before midday, she'd taken Clara aside.

"I don't want lunch," she said, "tell me why you've brought me here...just you and me."

Clara blinked. She had real difficulty understanding the Doctor, especially over the noise of all the past companions chatting. "Say again." She said slowly and clearly, pointing to her ear.

The Doctor sighed and repeated herself. "No lunch - just tell me why I'm here."

Clara, understanding, nodded.

So the two of them stayed back. Lady Me ushered everyone else out of the console room, promising to be back within the hour. It wasn't a glamorous lunch - they were going to the nearby Borough Market, to pick up some burgers and bacon rolls and whatnot. Not _haute cuisine_ by a long chalk. Tasty though. Clara found herself ever so slightly crestfallen not to be going - she was hungry. But the Doctor was right. She came, when really she had no need to. She deserved an explanation.

Tricky hung back. "You want me to stay and sign?" she asked the Doctor, signing the words as she spoke.

The Doctor shook her head. "I'll manage."

Tricky raised her eyebrows. She glanced at Clara. "You can understand her, right?"

"Course I can." Clara replied defensively, though it wasn't entirely true. She wasn't too sure about Tricky. She seemed a bit...well, a bit brusque. Callous even. Clara reminded herself that some Time Lords were like that. There was a strange frostiness between her and the Doctor, which puzzled Clara. For a pair of travelling friends, they didn't seem that close at all. Not like she and the Doctor had once been. They'd been close as anything! Well...for the most part anyhow.

Clara had realised she was deaf almost at once - when she'd first spoken. The "hello again" hadn't sounded right. It was muffled, strained, and she seemed to skip the "g" in "again." At first, Clara had assumed that there was something wrong with her voice. But then Tricky began signing, and Clara realized the truth - this new Doctor, whomever she was, couldn't hear.

Tricky shrugged and slouched out after Lady Me, leaving the Doctor and Clara alone. It occurred to Clara, at that moment, that as well as being unsure about Tricky, she really wasn't all that taken with this iteration of the Doctor either. She seemed cold. Twelve had been cold too. But not to this extent. Clara had seen right through the Doctor this morning. That false smile, the pretend interest in everyone...it was all fake. Behind that painted smile, all too clearly, the Doctor was bored. Not only bored, but eager to get away, and not return. Seeing faces she hadn't seen in centuries was to her only casually interesting, for the first half-hour or so. The sheer joy that Clara and the others felt at seeing her again simply wasn't reciprocated. But why not? What was wrong with the Doctor? Was this regeneration, besides the deafness and behind the beauty, simply not particularly friendly? Or had something made her this way?

Clara was wrong, of course. No, the Thirtieth Doctor wasn't the warmest of incarnations. Yes, a certain event had made her especially distant in recent years. But actually, the Doctor was incredibly happy to see everyone again. She had come at the drop of a hat.

But whatever Clara mistakenly thought, she brushed her opinions aside. They didn't matter. Yes, she was a little upset by the Doctor's attitude, but it wasn't relevant. The Doctor was here. She was owed an explanation.

"Right," Clara began, keeping her voice slow, "so, I-"

But the Doctor held her hand up. Clara stopped abruptly. The Doctor wasn't even looking at Clara's lip movements, she was busy reaching around in the pocket of her long black coat. Clara, affronted, simply sat like a naughty schoolgirl for a moment, staring at the round pearls on the Doctor's necklace. Finally, the Doctor pulled out a pen and paper, thrusting it at Clara. Clara understood - she wanted her to write it down. Made sense.

So Clara did. She started with the death of Ellie Oswald, her mother, all those years ago. She then wrote about the transmission she'd intercepted from UNIT. She wrote about her own research, and the story she remembered the Doctor telling her once. She wrote about bringing all these people together, and she wrote about what they'd learned so far. The story of Tomasz Wrench and his jumbled encounters with the Doctor. She wrote of Thomasina. Finally, she passed it to the Doctor, who read it. She could speed read. It took her two seconds.

For a moment, the Doctor said nothing. Then, smirking, she scribbled something down at the bottom of the page, passing it back to Clara. It read - _you were so hungover that day._

She frowned and looked up at the Doctor, who was smirking playfully. For a moment, Clara wondered what on Earth she was going on about. Then it hit her - that day the Twelfth Doctor had told her the story! She remembered! She remembered doing it! Wow! She was on her Thirtieth life! It happened all those years ago...but she remembered!

"I was," Clara said, nodding and laughing. The Doctor laughed as well. Even her laugh was quiet. "Oh yes, I was."

Clara scribbled something else down now - _I just don't know what to do, Doctor. I've got them here. They all think I have a plan. But I don't. All I've really done is get all the information. I haven't got a clue what to do._

The Doctor took the page and nodded. She scribbled something back, and Clara took it. It said - _But I do. We'll wait until everyone's back._

Clara grinned as she read that. "Thanks, Doctor," she said clearly, "thanks for coming back for us..."

The Doctor watched Clara's lips, and then nodded. "Anytime."

* * *

Later that afternoon, the whole team sat in Clara's console room. Clara and the Doctor had located a whole bunch of chairs, stored fifteen minutes away in a closet deep within Clara's Tardis. Clara had grimaced at the prospect of dragging them all the way back, but the Doctor had shown her a little trick - they'd all been teleported directly to the console room. They set them up in two rows, five in each, and directed the others into them as soon as they were back. Clara hopped into one of the seats in the front row, more than happy to relinquish her unofficial role as leader to the Doctor. She sat beside Lady Me, and leaned over to her, speaking quietly.

"You've got ketchup on your chin," she whispered.

Lady Me looked at her in alarm, and quickly wiped her face with a handkerchief.

The Doctor stood before them, like the teacher of a particularly small class. Tricky stood to the side, ready to translate whatever the Doctor had to say. Unlike most classes, this one's attention was focused on the teacher, and nothing but the teacher. They gazed up at the tiny little Doctor, waiting for her to speak. Finally, smiling, she began. But she didn't speak - she signed. Tricky spoke.

"All right," Tricky said, "so to start with, it's great to see you all again. If unexpected. I know we're not here under the best of circumstances, but it's been so special this morning, catching up with you all."

The Doctor paused. Everyone was smiling eagerly at her, and she had to fight the urge to laugh. Like Clara, this whole setup reminded her of a school. She felt as if she was the beautiful young teacher of a bunch of eight-year-old's, all of whom fancied her and adored her. That's what their expressions reminded her of - desperate little children, keen to be the teacher's favourite.

She took a deep breath, strangling the laugh which was itching to escape, and continued signing.

"What Clara's told me today is unbelievable," Tricky translated, "not least because I was brought up sensible - I never truly believed in the Other. But also because like you, I can't remember a thing. Clara's told me all of it. I literally can't remember a thing. Not one detail. Now...I have my suspicions about what the Other is doing in Mayfair, though I hope I'm wrong. I understand that we're missing two pieces of the puzzle still. Namely, Amy and Jamie. Brilliant coincidence right there. For now...I recommend hearing from Amy."

"Then me?" Jamie interrupted, "I've been wantin' ta do me bit for ages!"

The Doctor frowned at him and looked at Tricky. "He said he wants to do his part as well," Tricky explained, signing. "Rude little git, interrupting you."

Jamie looked at the floor sheepishly, but the Doctor just chuckled. "No problem," she told Jamie herself, and he glowed red with pride. "But," she went back to sign language, and Tricky carried on the sentence, "I think you'll have to wait a little longer, Jamie. We'll hear your part for sure...but only when the time is right. Trust me - we'll all know when the time is right to hear the end of the tale, from you. It's not yet."

"All righ'," Jamie said agreeably enough, looking slightly crestfallen nonetheless.

"But Amy - this is as good a time as any to hear your segment." Tricky continued, watching the Doctor's hand motions, "if your happy to do it?"

"I am," Amy said, getting to her feet at once. But Rory stood up next to her, equally quickly.

"No!" He said. "Let me. I was there too, right? Why can't I use the little disc thingy?"

"Why should you get all the fun?" Amy exclaimed.

"It wasn't fun though," Rory retorted, "it looked awful. It was, wasn't it guys?"

"It wasn't so nice," Jack Harkness conceded, "but look- we're all fine!"

"Indeed." Ian nodded.

"Yes, but..." Rory looked helplessly at the Doctor. She only watched impassively, with raised eyebrows. He rounded on Clara, "I'll do it instead."

Clara smiled. "That's good of you, Rory. But no. I've got every reason to want Amy to do it instead. I've got good reason to think that Amy saw and experienced a lot more that particular day. I'd like her to do it."

"Yeah, so would I!" Amy said, moving Rory aside. "Clara - disc!"

Clara pulled out the little golden disc, but the Doctor quickly snatched it from her hands. Her pretty eyes widened as the examined the specimen, turning it around to look at both sides. She and Tricky exchanged an astonished look.

"Where'd you get that?" Tricky demanded.

"I was given it." Clara said.

Tricky looked at the Doctor. "She was given it, apparently." She said, signing the words.

The Doctor looked at Clara in alarm. "By who?"

Clara shrugged. "An old man. I'll tell you later."

The Doctor stared incredulously at Clara. She was going to ask more questions, but something on Clara's face told her not to bother. It would be a waste of time. So, slowly, she passed the disc back to her. Clara took it.

"Go for it." She said, smiling at Amy.

"Right," Clara said. She flicked a switch on the little golden disc - quite a feat, considering there hadn't been any switches when the Doctor was holding it. A light buzzed on. Clara smiled and held it up to Amy's face.

Amy stooped to look into it. She felt like a giant, next to the Doctor and Clara. The Doctor was slightly taller than Clara, but she was still miles below Amy. So, stooping low, she gazed into the light.

"Ohh," she whimpered at once, stumbling. Rory raced forwards to catch her, and the Doctor grabbed one of her arms. "Sorry." Amy said. "But I remember! I remember everything. We were welcoming in the year 2000! We were so happy that night, Rory! He took us to the Ritz...well... _you_ took us to the Ritz," Amy said, looking at the Thirtieth Doctor and laughing, "a very different you, but you nonetheless."

The Doctor nodded. "But what happened?"

Amy took a deep breath, "he used me...he used me to get to you. He wanted to kill you. He so nearly did..."

"Who stopped him?" Clara asked. The rest of the audience watched from their seats, scared but extremely interested.

"Well..." Amy said incredulously, "believe it or not, Rory... _you_ did. This is what happened..."


	26. Amy - An Essay of the Eleventh Doctor I

**_New Years' Eve, 1999, The Ritz Hotel, The Fifth Encounter_**

* * *

 _The party, it transpired, was really more of a banquet. Amy shuddered to think how much it would have cost these other guests...in the thousands, for sure. But not her! Not when the Doctor's involved._

 _Her and Rory were sat cheerfully together on a round, white-clothed table in the ballroom, two little dishes of caviar in front of them. They'd grown tired of dancing. But the Doctor, of course, had not. They were watching the him dancing, laughing hysterically as they watched him twirl and spin through the crowds. His arms were held high above his head, and his suit was all askew. He loved a dance. The other dancers (mostly couples, doing a polite, calm waltz) were swerving out of his way, some of them smiling, other tutting and rolling their eyes in disapproval. Most of them thought he was pie-eyed, or even high. No. The Doctor had stuck exclusively to lemonade this evening, and as Amy had foreseen, he had quickly become hyperactive, the way a little boy might get doubly silly after an overdose of sherbet._

 _Amy ate one of the little black eggs on the dish before her. She didn't much like them - nasty taste. But it was caviar! Served on an immaculate little glass dish, in the grandest room in the grandest hotel in London...no bloody way could she leave it, no matter how it tasted. Rory had already finished his - he'd gotten a taste for it._

 _"Reckon the food machine does caviar?" He asked Amy loudly - the music was rather loud._

 _"Probably," Amy shrugged. The food machine in the Tardis did basically anything. She continued to watch the dance floor, where the Eleventh Doctor was busy making a spectacular fool of himself. He was dominating the entire dance floor with his wacky dancing, and everyone was watching him, even the other dancers. Stick him in a clown suit, apply a little greasepaint to his face, and you'd have the archetype of a clown. Amy didn't know it of course, but his Sixth incarnation had been rather fond of ludicrously colourful clothes. And as she would come to learn in later years, his Thirtieth incarnation liked to wear jester's shoes. If Eleven was wearing a mashup of those two outfits, he'd have looked perfect - the crazy clown at a kids party, dancing like his pants were on fire._

 _Unfortunately_ _, however, the laughs were short-lived. Amy and Rory gasped in horror as one of the Doctor's flailing arms caught a porky gentleman squarely on the mouth. The man let go of his wife instantly (he'd been waltzing with her), and clutched his mouth. The Doctor stopped dancing and grinned nervously, muttering an apology. The man snarled and advanced on the Doctor menacingly. Amy and Rory leapt up from the table and rushed over, barelling dancers aside to reach the Doctor._

 _"Now, Gerald!" The man's wife was saying sternly. "I'm sure the young man didn't mean to hit you. Come on, now! Don't be angry."_

 _But Gerald_ was _angry. He continued to walk towards the Doctor, who backed away anxiously._

 _"Haha...lovely bow-tie, sir!" The Doctor said desparatley. Gerald was indeed wearing a bow-tie. Amy hadn't noticed 'til then. The man's fifth chin obscured it somewhat. "Come on, you wouldn't hit a fellow bow-tie enthusiast!"_

 _"Gerald!" The man's wife barked, hands on hips._

 _Gerald finally stopped. He rounded on Rory. "Is your friend inebriated, boy?" He demanded._

 _"No, no," Rory said, "hyper. Too much lemonade."_

 _"Ah," Gerald said, and took the Doctor's shoulder firmly. The Doctor gulped. "Now look," Gerald said, firmly but reasonably, "I don't quite know what your game is, son. But your making a nuisance and an embarrassment of yourself. I'd like you to leave the dance floor, and not come back. Do I make myself clear?"_

 _"Yes, sir." Rory said at once, taking the Doctor by the shoulders and walking him back to the table._

 _With the Doctor safely out of the way, Amy smiled apologetically at the fat man. Fat Gerald, if you like. Seemed fitting. "Sorry, f...Gerald. Have a nice evening."_

 _"You too," Gerald said, smiling slightly. "I don't envy you, having to deal with him."_

 _"No," Amy laughed, and turned to leave. Gerald went back to his wife. Amy pushed past a couple of dancers to get off the dance floor, but suddenly a hand touched her wrist lightly. Surprised, Amy turned around. A young man was standing next to her, smiling politely. Amy looked him up and down quickly - what a striking man. White suit, gleaming white shoes, and a shaved head. He had a goatee beard, and a handsome, reasonable face._

 _"Would you like to dance?" He asked Amy, bowing courteously._

 _Amy shook her head. "Sorry. Married." She laughed apologetically._

 _"Ah...would the lucky man begrudge you one dance? Just a dance?"_

 _"No, really..." Amy said - she_ would _have danced with this man. He was polite, attentive and handsome. But she had Rory. She would never look at another man that way as long as she had him._

 _The man withdrew his hand and shrugged, smiling. "Ah, well...as you wish. Enjoy your evening just the same."_

 _"Thanks, and you." Amy said, turning away, blushing in spite of herself. Behind her, Tomasz Wrench growled. He was depending on his good looks and natural charm to do the job - get close to the woman, get close to_ him _. Then kill them. All three of them. Disappointing. Nonetheless, it changed nothing. He violently slammed a couple out of the way, and walked back over to the bar, ordering himself another drink. Ah, well. Ah, well indeed. Onto Plan B..._

* * *

"I _liked_ him," Amy said, "he seemed so nice. A proper gentleman. So _suave_!"

"Smarmy, I think the word is." Jack scoffed.

" _Pot. Kettle Black._ " Mickey whispered to Martha, who giggled.

"Yes, indeed." Ian said. "He could charm the birds off the trees. He made himself the King of Sabb-Landon Xavier 1, didn't he? They loved him so much that they obeyed his every word. They even came to Earth with him!"

"True enough," Clara said. "Go on, Amy..."

* * *

 _The dancing finally ended, about an hour after the Doctor was escorted from the dance floor. No sooner had the last couple sat down, dinner was served. Out it came, massive great platters of fine food, hidden under silver lids, carried by waiters and waitresses who held the plates at shoulder-level on one hand. The Doctor's lemonade hit was thankfully over, and he was now back to his usual self. Which in truth, wasn't so very different._

 _"Wowzer!" He exclaimed as a waitress placed a plate in the middle of his and the Pond's table. The waitress glared at him. She served expensive food to very rich people. Most of them said "thank-you" in perfectly clipped English. Never "thanks", or "cheers love,". And certainly never "wowzer." That was a first._

 _The waitress lifted the lid and walked off without a word. They had a turkey. A whole turkey, and vegetables. Half of it was already sliced, still hanging loosely from the main carcass. No doubt another waitress or waiter would be along to slice more later, should they so desire._

 _The three of them hurriedly filled their plates. "Well...happy new year!" Amy said, raising her glass. They clinked glasses and drank._

 _"Happy new year yourself, Pond." The Doctor said, beaming and looking around the big, grand room. He gave Gerald, who was sitting four tables away, a little wave. The man scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, though Amy was relieved to see that he was smiling. "Wanna go see New Year's Eve of 2999 after this? It's even better!"_

 _"Yeah," Amy said brightly. Rory only nodded. His mouth was full of turkey._

 _Amy sighed contently and ate. This was the life! Other worlds and alien civilizations were all well and good, but she loved these occasions, where they just...well, took a breather. Chilled out, and did something genuinely nice._ _For the next twenty-five minutes, everything was perfect. They sat, they ate and they chatted. It was a wonderful evening._

 _Then the waiter came by, with a trolley of drinks._

 _"More champagne, ma'am?" Asked a polite, silky voice. A familiar one. Amy looked up, startled. It was the same man from before. The guy who asked her for a dance! He was dressed in a waiter's outfit now. It was a little small for him. It wasn't his. The owner of that outfit was now dead._

 _"Thanks," Amy said, allowing him to pour her drink. "I've seen you before, haven't I?"_

 _"Indeed you have," Tomasz Wrench replied, smiling gently. "Yes, indeed. I...I'd be grateful if you didn't mention that. My shift hadn't started, so I thought I'd have a bit of a dance..."_

 _"Can't say fairer than that," Amy laughed. "Thanks for the wine."_

 _"Your very welcome," Tomasz replied, filling Rory's glass. Rory muttered his thanks, and Wrench moved round to the third guest at the table - the Doctor himself._

 _"More to drink, sir?" Wrench asked quietly._

 _"Lemo-"_

 _"Water." Amy and Rory said firmly._

 _"Oh, all right...some water please."_

 _"But of course," Tomasz replied. His act was good - aside from the poor fitting clothes, he looked and sounded exactly as a waiter would. He grabbed a tumbler of water from his trolley and, leaning over the Doctor from behind, poured it for him. The Doctor grunted, a bewildered look suddenly appearing on his face. Tomasz Wrench finished pouring the Doctor's drink and straightened up with a smile._

 _"Enjoy your evening," he said smoothly, and walked away. He left the trolley of drinks where it was._

 _"Oh, he's left his trolley." Amy muttered. "Hey...waiter guy! Hey!"_

 _But Tomasz Wrench didn't look round. He continued to walk away, heading for the exit._

 _"Amy..." Rory said stiffly, staring at the Doctor._

 _"Yeah? What?"_

 _But Rory ignored her. "Doctor?" He muttered, a horrified look appearing on his face. "Doctor, what is it?"_

 _Amy too stared at the Doctor. His face was pale, and contorted with confusion and pain. He coughed. And a trickle of blood erupted from his mouth as he did so._

 _"Doctor!" The two spouses screamed, leaping from their seats. The Doctor slumped forwards onto the table, his face crashing into his half-eaten dinner. The back of his jacket was torn open high on his back, between his shoulder blades. A fountain of blood was pouring from the tear. The tear that Tomasz Wrench had made, when he plunged a knife into the Doctor's back, whilst he was pouring a glass of water with his free hand._

 _"Help!" Rory said, an astonishing calm coming over him. He was a nurse, after all. He didn't panic. Couldn't. "Help!" Rory said again. Several nearby diners looked round, wondering what on Earth was happening._

 _The Doctor groaned, and fell backwards out of his seat. The carpeted floor on which he lay was turning a shade of red beneath him, soaking up his freely running blood._

 _"Someone call an ambulance!" Amy screamed, sharing none of her husband's calmness. Rory, with one swift movement, grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it clean off the table. Food, drinks and cutlery flew everywhere. The diners were all on their feet now. Some, Gerald among them, rushed over to Rory's side at once, desperate to be some sort of help. Rory was bent over the Doctor. "Stay calm," he said. His hand was underneath the Doctor, wrapped in the tablecloth. Putting pressure on the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding._

 _"Like my wife says," Rory barked. "Get an ambulance."_

 _"I'm on it," Gerald said, rushing off at once. Oh for the days when everyone would be carrying a mobile phone..._

 _Then, quite suddenly, Amy saw him. The man from before. The waiter. He slipped quietly from the room. As he left, he shot Amy an evil smile..._

* * *

"Poor me..." The Thirtieth Doctor exclaimed, as Amy paused again for a moment. Everyone chuckled, without any real humour.

"Yeah," Amy said. She rounded on Rory. "You were brilliant." she said, her eyes burning with tears. She was so proud of her husband, and what he did for work. She didn't tell him that nearly as much as she ought to. "You saved his life!"

Rory shrugged, his eyes briefly locking with the Doctor's. "Just doing m'job." He mumbled.

"Yeah," Amy said, "and whilst you were doing that...I did something really quite daft."

Rory nodded. "You went after him, didn't you?" He didn't need to remember the events to know that. This was Amy, after all. Of course she went after him.

"Yeah..." Amy said solemnly, "I went after him...I shouldn't have. But I was just so _angry_! I didn't want him to get away."

"He didn't," Clara said firmly. "And she won't. What did you see, Amy? When you followed him?"

Amy took a deep, shaky breath. "One of the most horrible things I've ever seen in my life..."


	27. Amy - An Essay of the Eleventh Doctor II

**_New Years' Eve, 1999, The Ritz Hotel, The Fifth Encounter_**

* * *

 _Amy ran out into the lobby in hot pursuit of Wrench. She was expecting a chase. She was ready for one - her particularly long legs meant that she'd been a very fast runner for most of her life. She'd set a school record in cross-country back at secondary school. The school liked to make them do it twice-yearly, on the week immediately after the Christmas term. They took them out onto an untamed wasteland just outside of Leadworth village. And, in her tenth year at Leadworth Secondary School, Amy pulled off something spectacular - she'd made it along the public footpath, through the woods, past the haunted house, under the bypass, around the big fields and finally up "heart attack hill", all in fourteen minutes and six seconds. The average time stood at twenty minutes._

 _Heart attack hill was the nickname for the final stretch of the run - a steep incline back up into Leadworth, from the barren, unkempt countrysides that surrounded the village. Leadworth was on high ground, and that hill was torture, especially when it came at the end of a cross-country run. Fortunately, no student had ever actually had a heart attack whilst running up it. But plenty felt as though they might do, including Amy._

 _Her heart was thumping in her chest, and she was seething with anger. Just like heart attack hill made her and her classmates feel on those soggy, freezing January days, where their monster of a P.E. teacher would march them out to run through the mud and filth of the waterlogged countryside. She remembered how she felt, going up that hill, her heart aching with every thump, her mind clouded with anger towards the idiots making her do this. But alongside that anger, there was always a fierce determination to succeed._

 _And that was how she felt now. The Doctor had done nothing to this guy! Was it because Amy had refused him a dance? Was he some kind of lunatic, who did it as revenge for Amy rejecting him? Whatever it was, he would pay. Amy's heart throbbed and thumped in her chest, and the anger at what Wrench had just done was burning up inside her. She was determined all right - determined to make him pay._

 _She raced into the middle of the grand brass-clad lobby, looking around helplessly. Which way did he go? Which way? Out? Or further into the hotel?_

 _Then, to her surprise, the question was answered for her. The doorman whom had allowed her, Rory and the Doctor entry came in through the entrance. And there, clamped in his strong arms, was Tomasz Wrench._

Oh _, Amy thought...well so much for the great chase. She smiled grimly._

 _"D'you know what he did?" Amy demanded._

 _"Yeah, sure." The doorman said, glaring down at Wrench. "Why else do you think I've got 'im? Police have been called."_

 _"Good." Amy said bitterly. She took two steps towards Wrench, and slapped him hard round the face. "Why did you do that?" She demanded. She slapped him again. Both times, he simply took the blow. He wasn't looking at Amy. Instead, he looked straight ahead, smiling faintly._

 _The doorman moved Wrench aside, not letting go of him. "Don't." He warned Amy. "The police are coming. Let them deal with him."_

 _Amy burst into furious tears, throwing more punches towards Wrench. But she was firing blindly, her sheer anger crippling her reflexes. "You stabbed the Doctor! Why? What did he do to you? Tell me!"_

 _Wrench continued to stare into space. Amy felt a pair of arms close in on her own, pulling her back. It was the receptionist. She was a small woman, but surprisingly strong. "No," she said sternly, "don't get yourself into trouble for him. It's not worth it. He's not worth it. Go be with your friend."_

 _Amy took a rattling breath, tears of frustration dripping from her eyes. She was scared to go back. What if...he was losing_ so much _blood. But he couldn't be dead...he just couldn't be..._

 _"Go on!" The receptionist urged. "Go be with him!"_

 _Amy, sobbing helplessly, turned to go back to the ballroom..._

* * *

"She survived." Amy whispered. "The receptionist, that is...that was almost the worst part, in a way. She's probably still alive now. In the city somewhere...she somehow survived."

"Survived what?" Rory said, his mouth dry.

Amy shook her head. "I'm gonna be sick," she said, rushing off into the living area of the Tardis. Rory rushed after her. Clara watched them go nervously...she hoped that Amy would get to the bathroom in time. Blimey, first Rory was ill, and now her! Clara felt a pang of guilt. But she ignored it. She'd done the right thing, calling them. She had. But what she was putting them through...it wasn't right. Not at all.

"Don't blame yourself," Tricky said suddenly.

Clara stared at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm trying not to...thanks, Tricky."

"No, no, that's what _she_ said," Tricky retorted, nodding towards the Doctor. "Not me."

"Oh," Clara said awkwardly, "right. You getting all of this, Doctor?"

The Doctor smiled and nodded. Tricky had been signing the whole thing.

"Good..." Clara replied. She looked at the Doctor for a moment. She was looking glum. Clara couldn't blame her. She'd just been listening to a story in which she'd been stabbed in the back, almost killed. Even though she couldn't remember it, it still had to be hard, listening to something like that. Suddenly, Clara's lifeless heart filled with affection for this iteration of the Doctor. There was just something so sweet about her, despite her rather flippant, unwelcoming demeanor. And of course, somewhere in there, Eleven and Twelve still lived. They were she and she was them. Clara looked into her blue eyes and tried to see them. She could and couldn't at the same time. On the one hand, there was someone she recognized in that wise, wistful look in her eyes. On the other hand, this was someone new. Someone Clara had never met before. Huh...regeneration. Clara wasn't sure if it was wonderful or freaky, to be honest. Maybe it was both.

"Don't worry, Doc." She said. "We'll sort this. You'll soon be on your way. Back on your travels!"

At this, her and Tricky exchanged a glance.

"She's retired," Jack Harkness said casually from his seat. He was leaning back on it, his feet outstretched underneath Jo's chair, which was in front of him. "Told me earlier when we was all catching up."

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Retired?" She gaped. "Wow...you don't look old enough!"

The Doctor didn't quite read the words this time, so looked to Tricky who signed them. The Doctor chuckled. "Trust me, I am." She mumbled.

They all continued to chat among themselves for a couple of minutes. Finally, Amy and Rory returned, clutching each other around the shoulders.

"You all right, poppet?" Jo said anxiously.

"Yeah," Amy nodded, her eyes shut. "False alarm. I...I'm ready."

"Okay," Clara said, holding up her little disc again. Amy looked into it.

"So..." Amy began nervously. "I'd just turned around to go back to the Doctor, when all of a sudden"

* * *

 _There was a hideous, ear-splitting scream._ _Amy wheeled around._

 _To the worst thing she'd ever seen._

 _At first, she wasn't entirely sure what she was seeing. Wrench and the doorman almost seemed to be hugging - the doorman's arms were wrapped tightly around Wrench's waist, and Wrench was up on tiptoe, face to face with the bouncer. His hands were on the bouncer's cheeks._

 _There was blood on them. There was blood everywhere._

 _The receptionist was backing away hurriedly - it had been her who'd screamed. But now the doorman himself was screaming as well. A hideous, anguished cry of pain, the likes of which Amy had never heard. Wrench's fingers were in the man's mouth._

 _Then, with a burst of inhuman strength, he_ pulled _. The doorman gurgled and dropped to the floor, blood flowing from his mouth like water from a tap. He was dead before he hit the floor (but not before he felt the pain). In Wrench's hands was a long, pink thing. Amy screamed herself this time - it was the doorman's tongue._

 _The receptionist burst into tears, screaming still, and hurried backwards. In her haste, she tripped over, and Wrench was on her like a shot._

 _"No!" Amy cried, rushing towards them, trying to free her. The doorman lay dead and still in a pool of his own blood, on the floor. This man wasn't human. That's for sure. No human could have done this. No ordinary Time Lord could have done this either. She grabbed Wrench around the shoulders and tried to yank him off the receptionist. He threw her back into a wall, and Amy slumped down, dazed and bruised._

 _She watched, as Wrench forced the receptionists face up. Then, he reached into his pocket and brought out the knife. It was soaked in the Doctor's blood. And, without a moment's hesitation, he plunged it down into her face. Twice. The receptionist gave her loudest scream yet. Not a surprise, considering her eyes were gone. Stabbed out._

 _"My eyes!" She screamed, writhing in pain, her arms flailing blindly, "help me! My eyes!"_

 _Wrench grinned, and stood up. His waiter's outfit was stained crimson. He rounded on Amy. "And what to do with you?" He purred. He walked towards Amy slowly. Amy whimpered in horror. There was nothing she could do, bruised and lying on the floor. She should never have chased him. He'd been counting on it. He was going to kill her. Then he'd go back for Rory._

 _"Oh, I haven't the time to_ really _enjoy myself," Wrench said, his soft voice brimming with hatred. "Let's keep it simple." He raised the knife high above his head. Amy shut her eyes. There was nothing she could do._

 _Except run...she was able to run, and she was able to run fast._

 _Tomasz Wrench plunged the knife down. Amy rolled aside and scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pains shooting up her back. She charged for the ballroom, Wrench in hot pursuit. Amy heard the sound of the knife swishing down a few inches from her head, and picked up the pace. She was fifteen again, running the cross-country. Belting up heart attack hill as fast as she could, or else she'd miss her fifteen minute record..._

 _Again, the knife came down, less than an inch from her ear. She could run, but blimey so could he...but she made it! She staggered back into the ball room. Everyone looked up, to see Amy running for her life, and Wrench holding the knife above her. Rory got to his feet instantly, leaving the Doctor, and charged towards Wrench. A few of the others did the same._ _Wrench had been counting on killing her, and then slipping discreetly back into the ball room to finish off Rory. Not having an entire roomful of people to contend with._ _So, like the coward he was, he backed out. Snarling, he fled from the ballroom, out through the lobby and into the street._

 _And that was it. That was the last Amy and Rory saw of him._

 _"How's the Doctor?" Amy said._

 _"Bad." Rory said simply, leading her over to him. A bandage was draped around his midsection._

 _"Amy..." he said weakly, smiling as he saw her, "Rory...he's saved me. I'd have died. No more regenerations..." The Doctor coughed feebly, groaning as the motion strained his wound. "He saved my life..."_

 _"Your not out of the woods, Doctor." Rory said sternly._

 _"But I am," the Doctor said, smiling at Rory now. "I absolutely am...I'm not like you. Yo...you've done it. I'll just need to rest..."_

 _Amy sighed in relief, clutching the Doctor's hand. She looked urgently up at Rory. "There's a receptionist out there," Amy said, "that guy, he wasn't human...he tore her eyes out! And the doorman's tongue. The doorman's dead, but the woman wasn't...she might be alive still."_

 _"I'm on it," Rory said, leaping to his feet. Gerald and six of the other party goers went out after him. This was a party full of businessmen and businesswomen. Accountants and CEO's and bank managers. Rory was the only nurse._

 _"Who was he, Pond?" The Doctor said feebly, clutching Amy's arm. "Who_ was _he?"_

 _"I've no idea," Amy said, and she started to cry again. "But he's gone."_

 _"I'll find him," the Doctor said, his voice unusually angry, "one day...for now, I need sleep."_

 _He blacked out. Into a recovery coma, for want of a better word._

* * *

"I remember him doing that!" Jo said. "On Spiridon. He slept for a while, then woke up much better."

"Yeah," Amy said, pushing the disc away. Clara turned it off. "UNIT handled it. Sent him to a secret hospital while he recovered. We were stuck for about a week. But...that poor receptionist lived! Can you believe that? She had her eyes ripped out, and survived!"

The Thirtieth Doctor signed something.

"That was my blood," Tricky translated, "my blood was on the knife he used on her. I was on my last body of that cycle, but there was still excess regeneration energy in my bloodstream. Very little...but enough to let her pull through. For better or for worse."

Martha got to her feet suddenly. "Can't we listen to Jamie's now?" She said. "I think we're ready. Let's hear how the Doctor defeated him the first time round, and then let's go and get her. End this."

Jamie stood up as well. "Aye," he said, "come on. Let's have it."

The Doctor signed the reply, and Tricky spoke, "trust me, team. There's a time and a place to hear that story...but it's not quite yet."

"Then when!" Jamie exclaimed, frustrated.

"When we're there." Tricky replied on the Doctor's behalf. "When we're back there...in the dark. In the Panoptican. That's when. But I agree with what Martha said. I think we've heard enough for now. Shall we get started?"

Everyone cheered in agreement.

"Okay," the Doctor said through Tricky, "I've got something to show you..."

"Oh," the Thirtieth Doctor mumbled. Everyone looked at her. "And Rory...thanks. Thanks for saving me."

Rory blushed. "Just doing my job, Doctor."


	28. The Ice Gun and Another Victim

**_Clara's Tardis, 1PM_**

* * *

"An ice gun?" Clara said incredulously, as the Doctor produced the weapon from her pocket, handing it to Clara. She examined it carefully. It was a weird object. The handle was like that of any small gun, but above that was a different story. It was silver, with a round unit on the back. The barrel wad made up of three separate pipes, which formed together to make one large hole at the front of the gun - where the freeze rays came out. The trigger was small and black. There was a little computer screen on the side of the round unit - on it, were three green letters; S, C and P.

"Safety, lock and prime." Tricky explained. She was smirking about something. "Currently, the safety is on, it's not charged and it's not primed. When it's all of those things, the letters are red. When all three are red, that means it can be fired."

"Cool." Clara said, looking down the gun. It had a blue-dot sight. It was a heavy thing, much heavier than it looked. "So how do you set it up...just out of interest?"

"Lemme see," Jack said, taking the gun carefully from Clara. "Woow...this is some serious technology here. See, you tap the letters to get it ready to fire...there's all sorts of attachments though!" He scrolled through the tiny little touch-screen. "See here - you can select the strength of the blast...even send it through solid walls. Now that's something. See, if you lock onto a specific target, it can bypass a certain amount of matter...shoot someone through cover. Genius!"

"Yeah, great," Tricky said. She rounded on the Doctor, laughing. "You stole that!" She said, signing and speaking. "That was Commander Taylor's, wasn't it?"

"It was," the Doctor agreed. "Irresponsible owner."

"I'll say," Tricky said, snatching the gun from Jack. "Look at it! How did he even get it? It's Martian tech ain't it?"

"Yeah," the Doctor said, "he stole it as well."

"Who's Commander Taylor?" Lady Me asked.

"Oh, he was the UNIT boss, in the 2060's." Tricky said. "He was crazy."

"Where is UNIT?" The Doctor said suddenly. "Are they involved?"

"Nah," Clara said. "Didn't want them...they've sort of got their own investigation going, but they aren't getting very far."

"Sounds about right," the Doctor mumbled, watching Tricky translate Clara's reply.

Nobody was in their seats now. All of them were gathered around, looking at the freeze gun which had once belonged to the "crazy" commanding officer of UNIT in years to come. It wasn't cartoonish. It wasn't like Gru's freeze gun from Despicable Me, a film that Jo and her grandkids loved to watch together, on the rare occasions that Jo was having a break from her protests. It was a heavy, metallic object. Looking at it, Jo could well believe that it was a deadly weapon.

"Nitrogen based, of course." Jack said, as Tricky passed the gun on to Ian, who cradled it with interest in his bony hands. "You could do some damage with that."

"Does it kill?" Mickey asked, taking it from Ian.

"It can." Tricky said. "Or it can disable. Needs to be fully charged to deliver a fatal shot."

"Wow..." Mickey said, giving it to Rory. Rory didn't like guns. He passed it straight to Amy.

Finally, when everyone had had a good look, it was given back to the Doctor. "So yeah..." she murmured. "We can use it."

"To do what?" Clara said at once. "To kill her? Or to disable her?"

The Doctor shrugged, and replied via Tricky. "That's your choice. It's your planet."

Clara nodded. "Did this Taylor guy ever use it on anyone? You said he was crazy."

"Yeah," Tricky said at once, "me!"

"No way!" Lady Me exclaimed.

"Yes way. He was a total nutjob. D'you remember the stuff he used to do Doctor?"

The Doctor rolled her eyes and nodded. Her expression, Clara suddenly noticed, was rather pained.

"A UNIT soldier once told me," Tricky continued, "that he used to turn up at UNIT bases for random inspections. He'd make them all parade. If anyone made a mistake, he'd throw them to the floor and he'd rub their foreheads into the concrete until the skin was literally peeling off. They used to bleed so badly. And he'd make them clean it up. Then, we saw him beat up that guy behind the sports hall..."

"That's gotta be illegal," Martha said, affronted. Although UNIT in her days had been rather...well, rather relaxed regarding national and indeed international law, that sort of abuse simply wouldn't have been tolerated. Not without good reason, anyway...

"It was," Tricky said, "they were scared witless of 'im. He killed anyone who ratted, and they all knew it. But there was never a shred of proof."

"Crikey..." Martha said. Goodness, UNIT would go to the dogs in years to come.

"I mean, I'll be a little fair to 'im since he's dead," Tricky went on. "From what they all said, he was a good soldier once. He went bad over several years. But no way should he have been the commanding officer. He was unfit for office."

"But none of that explains how you have his gun..." Clara said.

"True enough. Doctor - how did you get his gun?"

The Doctor signed her reply. "I sneaked into his office and took it. Same day he died." Tricky translated.

"Oh right," Tricky laughed, "that was just before you retired then, wasn't it? And just after Bart Platter died. He was flippin' weird as well, Platter was. So if I remember right that was in...I dunno, 2062?"

The Doctor just nodded, though there were two things that she could have corrected Tricky on. Firstly, it hadn't been 2062. It had been 2063. Secondly was that Bart Platter was a bit worse than "flippin' weird." Bart Platter had been insane. Utterly insane. Probably more insane than John Taylor. But one of those mistakes was so insignificant that the Doctor couldn't be bothered to correct it. The other was too dreadful and humiliating for her to correct. Bart Platter was the reason she'd retired. It showed just how far gone Taylor had been, that a psychopath like Platter had seemed all right to him. Well...to begin with, anyway.

 _Oi, Doctor! Wake up!_

Tricky's thought burst into her head, and the Doctor suddenly realized that everyone was looking at her. "Sorry," she said, feeling the vibrations of the word in her throat, but not hearing it come out of her mouth. "What is it?"

She saw Clara's mouth moving..."oi e frees ray?" The Doctor took a nanosecond to fill the gaps. "Why the freeze ray?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Why not?" she said, smiling.

Clara said something else, but it was long and complicated. No doubt the Doctor could have worked it out, but it would be easier just to ask Tricky. She turned on Tricky who, without needing to be asked, signed for her. Clara had said, "it seems to me that you'd rather we take her alive?"

The Doctor signed her response and watched Tricky relay it to the others. What she'd said was this - "Like I said, it's up to you. I don't care. If you spare her, we'll take her to Gallifrey. They'll lock her up forever. If you want her dead...I leave it to you. You especially, Clara."

Clara blinked. "Why me?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Tricky said on the Doctor's behalf. "This whole thing was your idea. You brought everyone together. She killed your mother. It's your choice to make, not mine."

Clara looked again at the freeze ray. Earlier, she'd been sure as night follows day that killing Thomasina was the right thing to do. The _only_ thing to do...but...it's not what the Doctor would do. Not if there was another way...could she kill Thomasina in the heat of battle? Sure thing. Sure as houses! She'd pull the trigger and not miss a wink of sleep. Could she kill Thomasina, however, if she was on her knees, begging and crying? If she was weeping and shaking in terror, her tears smearing her makeup as they ran down her face? Could she do it then? Could she actually? Of that, she was less sure. On the one hand - of course! That piece of filth was the reason she had no mother. The reason that so many people had vanished in Mayfair! But on the other hand...Clara had never taken a life. Would she be able to do it? Truly?

Yet again, Clara started to doubt herself, and the crazy plan she'd concocted.

* * *

 ** _Mayfair - Another One Is Taken - 1:12PM_**

* * *

Rachel Rogers was exhausted. Despite the cold, early March weather, sweat was pouring down her body. Despite also the fact that she was wearing nought but a bright green tank top, shorts and trainers.

As you may or may not have guessed, Rachel Rogers was a jogger. But she wasn't a very good one. Oh no. She'd come a half-mile thus far, and already she was knackered. That's pretty rubbish. But it's not her fault. It's hard for big boys and big girls to run fast. And she was a _big_ girl. Aged nineteen, coming in at a paltry height of five-four, she weighed thirteen stones and four pounds. That's a step down from the whopping fourteen stones and two pounds she'd weighed six months ago.

It was a shame, really. She was actually quite a pretty girl - everyone said what a lovely face she had. She could have been (and would be soon, so she hoped) a very beautiful young lady. Certainly if she kept this up, and stayed away from the snacks, she'd be well on her way to beauty. Oh, never a model. Never _thin_ as such. She'd settle for curvy.

At least she was doing something about her weight. Her parents were fat. Her mother was merely a bit chubby. Her old dad was a different story, a whopping great man who's weight stood at a gargantuan twenty-three stones. He no longer really resembled a person, truth be told. Just a head, a pudgy little head with straw coloured hair and greedy blue little eyes.

He was dead. Six months ago, he died. Forty-two. Heart attack, would you believe? Well, yes. I can well believe it.

And you'd think, wouldn't you, that a lifelong binge eater like Rachel Rogers might simply have started comfort eating? To cope with the extreme grief? You'd think very wrong. Because it scared her. It was so sudden. One moment he was there - alive and eating. The next he wasn't. The last years of his life were unpleasant. He was effectively disabled by his weight. And then, quite suddenly, he died.

It was a wake up call. Rachel Rogers didn't want that for herself. She knew that he'd have wanted her to lose weight - he said it often enough. "Don't end up like me, Rachel. It ain't pleasant." Rachel had always ignored him. Who listens to what their parents say at her age, right? But now he was gone, the message had finally sunk in. She and her little brother (fifteen, and already equipped with a spectacular beer-belly) had shed a lot of weight since their dad had passed on. So now, as Rachel lumbered down a Mayfair street, sweating profusely, she felt a little proud of herself. I mean, yeah...to be exhausted after half a mile is dismal by most people's standards. But to her it was good progress. Originally, three or four seconds was enough to render her breathless.

She staggered on, past the old Italian restaurant that she very vaguely remembered visiting as a tot, and on down the street. She was looking forward to getting home. She worked in a nasty little double-glazing firm normally, but she was on a weeks' holiday. So she'd get home and put on a DVD. Goodness knows what. She'd seen all her's a hundred times, and all of her mother's were dismal soap-opera style films. Rubbish. Rachel liked action movies. She dreamed of a time when she'd be fit and healthy enough to do half the things the girls to on those films - swinging down ropes, martial arts, you name...oh, how she'd love to be able to do that.

She was just thinking about whether or not to pilfer one of her brother's movies (he was at school) when she saw the electronics store. She stopped jogging and stood stock-still. Just sitting there, out of the blue, was a tacky little electronics store. The Panoptican Electronics Store: Games, consoles, computers and DVD's, it advertised on a rusty neon sign.

For a moment Rachel was confused. But then she remembered that it had always been there...right? Sure...sure it had. The Panoptican Electronics Store. That ugly brick building in Mayfair. Course it had...

She jingled her pocket, smiling as the coins clinked together in there. She had only three or four quid. Enough for one or two second hand DVD's, surely? So she walked in through the glass door, which jingled as she entered. She looked around, marveling at the weird decor. Pale green walls with weird circles, and a red patterned floor. Stacks and stacks of DVD's adorned the walls. A good looking guy sat on the counter - good looking aside from the big mole on his nose. He looked a little Chinese.

"Afternoon," he said brightly, "help you?"

"Hey," Rachel said, "I'm just after a DVD."

"Sure thing." The clerk said.

So Rachel browsed...or rather tried to. It was really weird. The DVD's were there! She could see them. But it was like...like she couldn't focus, somehow. They blurred before her eyes. She couldn't make even one title out...suddenly, she felt a little dizzy. Was it all the running she'd been doing?

"You all right?" The clerk said quickly. Too quickly.

"Y...yeah," Rachel said, swaying where she stood, "Think I need a little sit down. Been jogging."

"Course," the clerk said, moving out from behind the counter and pulling up a chair. "Why don't you come through to the back? Have a glass of water?"

"I...yeah." Rachel said weakly. "Thanks, I think I will."

So, not without difficulty, the clerk lifted Rachel to her feet and led her through into the staff room at the back of the store.

And nobody ever heard from Rachel Rogers again. She was harvested. Her last memory was of a woman...a young blonde woman in a hideous red dress, leering down at her, whilst the clerk (in reality, a hideous mutated creature) restrained her.

A couple of hours after she'd entered the "store", Rachel Rogers was found dead in an alleyway. Cause of death - brain aneurysm.

* * *

 **Note: Just a quick heads up, the next chapter is going to contain themes and scenarios which some readers might find a little bit distressing. Just wanted to mention that now in case anyone would rather not read it. :)**


	29. INTERVAL - The Death of Bart Platter

Every big decision has a flashpoint. Sure, hundreds of little reasons can contribute to a massive choice being made...but I think I'm right in saying that every big decision has one major factor which finally tips the balance. Somebody might, for example, have been thinking about moving house for a few years...it's played on their minds all that time, you know what I mean? Any number of little things might add weight to the argument in favour of moving...maybe it's the poor broadband. Maybe it's the dodgy heating. Maybe it's the busy main road just outside, with the cars rushing to and fro all day long, mere yards from the front door. And yet...and yet, it's never quite enough, is it? In spite of all the little issues, you like your current house! You think you should probably move but...well, you just don't want to, frankly.

Until the pig ignorant new neighbours arrive. Every Friday night, their acne-coated teenage oik of a son invites his mates round for "a few drinks", which actually means a full blown rave, lasting until two or three in the morning. And that, my friends, is what tips the balance. Finally, something happens which is big enough and bad enough to make you finally choose to move. The flashpoint. The thing that, when combined with all the little reasons, finally drives that choice home. And that's when you'll finally give up and move to a new house.

That process is basically what happened to the Doctor. That's how she was finally driven into retirement. There had been loads of little reasons over the years. The Tardis was knackered. She couldn't hear. Her and Tricky didn't get on very well. Her little meeting with John Taylor, add that to the list as well - she'd once considered UNIT friends, and the fact they clearly weren't any longer hurt her. So yeah...lot's of little factors which were making her consider retiring. But guess what? It wasn't enough. She just _didn't want to._

Her flashpoint was Bart Platter. UNIT's very own "prisons officer." What he did to her, and what she did to him in response - that was what finally drove that decision home. He made her retire.

Some background - Bart Platter was the self-proclaimed "prisons officer" in UNIT of 2063. He was a big shot within UNIT, Bart Platter was. But he wasn't a soldier. He wasn't even a British citizen, actually - he'd stumbled into the British division of UNIT entirely due to John Taylor's ever deteriorating stability. Nobody in their right mind would ever have taken him on. Bart Platter was a Canadian, a massive tall guy, forty-something, with grey-brown mullet hair (balding on top) and a handlebar mustache. He was, or rather had been, a hit-man. A hired gun. The Doctor never got the chance to ask him about his life (which she ended), and frankly she wouldn't have done if there had been time. She didn't want to hear it. He'd been, for some length of time, the most wanted man in Canada. Involved with drugs. Murders. Sexual assaults. Explosions and assassinations...every crime under the sun, he'd committed.

When it finally looked as if the authorities were closing in on him, he'd fled south, into the United States. And there, he started all over again. The same setup. The same crimes. The same blood-money. He just started the whole thing over again...

And then, when the law was closing in, he fled again. To Mexico. His grandfather had been Mexican, and he had family there. He went a little quieter in Mexico...no big criminal organization, the likes of which he'd run before...but that's not to say he left crime behind. Oh no. You see, he went to the town of Tijuana. That's where his family lived, and that's where they sheltered him (they had no idea of the extent of his crimes, so don't blame them). There's one thing I _do_ know, however - as soon as he arrived (literally the very night) people started getting attacked. He would force himself on people. Young women and young men, walking home alone late at night - sometimes they'd be pulled off the street. Into some horrible back alley. He'd assault them, he'd rob them...and sometimes he'd kill them. He was a deviant, with a fetish list as long as your arm. The things he did to people were horrific.

His name floated around on the police radar a few times, but there was never any evidence. Guess what though? As soon as he left, the attacks stopped. You see, he had to flee yet again - the FBI were well onto him. They knew he'd gone to Mexico, and they were determined to have him extradited. Executed, too. But no. As always, he was one step ahead of them. He fled.

To Britain.

He mightn't have been a soldier, but he was good with guns. Good with martial arts. He had the skills of soldier, though he wasn't one. He could even pilot aircraft - in his youth, he'd wanted to be in the air force, but was disqualified due to his mental instability. His skills, though acquired through and used for only bad deeds, were why Taylor wanted him. The Doctor never had time to ask exactly how they met...or why, in the name of all things sane, John Taylor invited him to join UNIT. All she knew was that he was there. The "prisons officer", in charge of looking after the detained aliens whom UNIT occasionally had to capture. Tell me now - how do you think he treated them?

Yeah. It doesn't bear thinking about. Truth be told, the Doctor got off fairly lightly. She escaped. He forced himself on her, too. Not in...that way (though certainly he would have, had the Doctor not escaped). But she told him to stop and he ignored her...he carried right on, fulfilling the disgusting little fantasy he was so utterly unable to control. She wasn't hurt. He didn't harm a hair on her head. But he humiliated her. And he _would_ have harmed her, had she not gotten away. It made her angry. So, so angry. Angrier than she'd felt for thousands of years.

And she killed him for it. Sort of...more like, he died and she did nothing to help. She watched him suffer with a smile on her face.

That was her flashpoint. Here's what really happened...

* * *

 _ **UNIT Safehouse MX9 (The Cesspit), 2063**_

* * *

"Well," Commander Taylor said, joining the Doctor in front of the barred holding cell, "we got it."

The Doctor ignored him. She didn't bother reading his lips, didn't so much as look at him. She had nothing to say to him on this, the second meeting between the two of them. Not after last time, when she'd discovered him torturing one of his own subordinates.

"Doctor? Doctor?" She could see, from the corner of her eye, his lips forming that familiar word. Finally, she looked up, her bright blue eyes meeting his cold ones.

"What?"

The Doctor watched his reply carefully. It was long winded, but she got the gist of it. Basically, he was telling her that Tricky would be fine.

Good. Tricky had been knocked out by the creature in the cell. It was a massive great creature made of wood - actual wood. A tree creature, with razor sharp claws and glowing red eyes. It had a vaguely humanoid form, though it was seven feet high. It had been a nightmare to catch - it had only gone and hidden itself in the Peak District. For hours, she, Tricky and a handful of UNIT officers had traipsed over hill and field looking for it. Finally, they found it. Bullets didn't work - it was wood all the way through, hard solid wood. Bullets only grazed it. So Taylor had given them his ice gun. _That_ worked. The creature was mega-strong, but a strong blast from the ice gun would immobilize it long enough to capture.

It worked. But they'd had to get in close for the full effect. In doing so, one of it's huge tree-trunk arms had caught Tricky round the head. She'd slumped to the soggy ground at once, and had been out cold for the entire helicopter ride back to London. They'd rushed her straight to the medical bay (an old maths classroom in the Cesspit).

"So then," Taylor said, speaking very clearly, "what do we do with it? Kill it, right?"

The Doctor read his lips and shook her head, "No! I'll take it to Febreton."

"You what?"

"Febreton. This is a Guardian of Febreton."

"Oh." Taylor said something else. A very long winded reply, which the Doctor simply couldn't make sense of, despite her amazing lip-reading skills. She shrugged and pointed to her ear, making sure she continued to look at Taylor with all the contempt he deserved.

Taylor sighed and plucked a pen from the breast pocket of his green uniform. The Doctor watched him fumbling around in all his other pockets, looking for a notepad. It was only when he'd finally checked the last one, she'd smirked and said, "want a notepad?" She gave him one of the six she had in her large (on the inside) pockets.

Taylor was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew her game. Glaring, he snatched it and scribbled the words furiously. They read; _go talk to Bart Platter, in charge of the prisoners. He'll help you move it to the Tardis. Second floor, room 116. He's a huge fan of your's, read all the stories and everything._

"Right," the Doctor said, brushing past Taylor without another word. Taylor watched her go, a little smirk on his face. Oh yeah - Platter was a fan all right. A very big fan. He'd wipe the smile off that smug little idiot's face...

"Good luck, Doc." He said aloud. "Happen you'll need it."

He knew, of course. He knew exactly what Platter was like - he knew also that he wouldn't kill the Doctor. But take her down a peg or two, he just might. You know what? He was comfortable with that. She'd humiliated him in the past. As far as he was concerned, he had it coming.

That's how unhinged he was, during the events which unfolded in 2063. He wasn't so far gone as to kill the Doctor...he saw no wrong, however, in allowing Platter to get his hands on her. No wrong at all...

The Doctor rapped on the door of Platter's upstairs office (situated in a converted ICT suite) and waited a couple of seconds before going in. She opened the door to a large, airy room, with a work desk, a sofa and coffee table, and a large bed in the corner. Evidently Platter, whomever he was, was based in the cesspit full time at present.

The man himself arose from the sofa as soon as the Doctor entered. He was tall, gaunt and balding, wearing an off-white shirt and beige cargo pants. He had a strange, dreamy look in his grey-blue eyes, as though he was sleepwalking. He shook the Doctor's hand without speaking, and pulled his hub from his pocket (2063's version of a smartphone) and typed. He passed it to the Doctor. It was a black square thing, with no manual buttons at all. All done by touch-screen and voice.

 _Well, hello! I've been looking forward to meeting you._

The hub was set to a blank white screen, and the Doctor tapped her finger beneath Platter's sentence, typing out her reply.

 _Good, yeah. Your in charge of the prisoners, right?_ She handed it back.

 _That's me. Come sit down, here._

Platter took the Doctor gently by the elbow and led her to the sofa in a very gentleman-like manner. She smiled faintly and allowed herself to be sat down. He strolled over to his work desk and opened a drawer, taking a bottle of white wine from it. He waved it at the Doctor, smiling. Offering her some.

She shook her head. "Need your help." She mumbled, stumbling on the "h" in help - that happened sometimes.

Platter grinned. "Ah! Well how might I help?" He came back over and sat on the sofa next to her. Rather too close to her. He passed her back the hub and she typed out what she needed from him - _I've offered to escort a new prisoner back home in the Tardis...Taylor said I could come to you, and you'd help me get him safely inside etc._

Platter nodded, typing his reply. There was a very peculiar look in his eye. The Doctor couldn't place it...it was like he was living in a dream, working on autopilot. He gave the hub back to the Doctor. _I'll do that. Sure. When?_

 _ASAP, really. While he's still pretty weak._ The Doctor replied.

 _Oh, ok._ Platter replied. He handed it back to the Doctor and let her read it, but then changed his mind and held his hand out for it again. The Doctor passed it back, assuming that they'd go straight down and sort it out...but no. Platter kept on typing, and without letting go of the hub, showed the Doctor what he'd written.

 _It's really such an honor to meet you Doc. And your so beautiful._ He spelled honour without the "u".

The Doctor grinned. "Thanks."

Platter nodded. The Doctor rolled her eyes as he typed something else. This was all very flattering, but there was work to do! Finally, he showed her his next comment.

 _Say...let me do a little something._

The Doctor read it, and looked up at him, her face screwed up with confusion. "What?"

Platter grinned, that weird, vacant look in his eyes stronger than ever. It was almost like he was looking _through_ her. _Just a little something. It's nice. I think you'll enjoy it. Shoes off._

The Doctor read it, and looked up at him incredulously.

He nodded enthusiastically. "It'll be nice!" He insisted, smiling without showing any teeth. His lips were moist and he seemed to be shaking slightly.

"Um..." The Doctor began...then she understood. She actually laughed, then. The last time she laughed for a long time. "Massage?"

"Yeah!" Platter said, continuing to smile his wet, toothless smile. His tongue poked a little out of his mouth.

The Doctor shook her head. "Work to do!" She exclaimed. Truth be told, she wasn't adverse to a spot of pampering. She and Tricky had spent a week at a health-spa built into an asteroid not long ago. But not here. Not Bart Platter. He'd creeped her out from the moment she'd entered. She might be laughing and smiling, but she felt a cold sense of panic rising in her chest. This wasn't normal. Not at all.

She attempted to stand up, but Platter reached forward and grabbed her firmly by the arm. "Just a little," he said, and before she could stop him, he grabbed her legs and swung them round, so that she was lying down on the couch.

"No!" She protested, trying to tug her legs away, but he held them firmly - using one arm. He was a big man, she was a small woman. His left arm wrapped comfortably around her legs like a bear hug.

"Just a little!" Platter insisted, easily holding her in place, keeping his lip-movements clear. Though the Doctor couldn't hear him, his voice was soft and calm, almost loving. With his free right hand he slowly and carefully removed her curly green jester's shoes, letting them drop to the floor. The Thirtieth Doctor didn't wear socks. She was a little phobic of them, truth be told. Nasty, bacteria ridden things. She attributed this little phobia to her previous life. Her predecessor's socks had been in a league of their own - they were foul. Upon regenerating, the Thirtieth Doctor had burnt the lot.

Bart Platter had no such phobias. Quite the contrary. "No socks?" He said to the Doctor, who was sprawled helplessly over the sofa.

"Let go of me!" She screamed.

Platter shook his head. "In a bit," he replied. Ignoring the Doctor's protests, he gently tickled the soles of her bare feet. She squirmed and gave an involuntary giggle. Platter ignored her. He was stroking her feet now, that nightmarish, vacant expression intensifying on his face. It was like...like he was experiencing more pleasure than he was able to take in. With a thrill of horror, the Doctor realized, too late, what that feeling was - arousal. Arousal, the likes of which he simply couldn't (or wouldn't) control. He started rubbing her feet gently, alternating foot to foot with his free hand.

Truth be told, it wasn't unpleasant...but she wanted him to stop! She'd told him to! Why wouldn't he?

"Get off me!" The Doctor screamed, her deaf and stilted scream roaring through the cesspit. People heard. Many of the soldiers. Taylor. Even the wood-creature in the cell. Not one of them came to help. When Bart Platter had a guest, they never helped. Never.

Platter ignored her again, not even flinching at the volume of her scream. His eyes were glazed over and empty, his mouth hanging open. A bead of saliva was hanging from his lip. And on he went, totally blanking the Doctor. Rubbing her feet, gently at first, but harder and faster as time went on. He rubbed underneath her toes, grunting with pleasure.

Then, with a strange martial arts move, he dropped her legs and grabbed her bare feet, one in each hand. He held them tightly - so tightly that she still couldn't pull them away. His fingers dug painfully into them. "Can I put them in mouth?" He asked. His voice was dry and husky.

The Doctor read the words on his lips and let out a sob of terror.

"I will...just for a bit. And then, more fun..." Suddenly, he released her left foot, his free hand travelling up her leg...too far up. But before she could take advantage of his letting her go, he'd grabbed her tightly again.

The Doctor snapped. He wasn't going to let her go. He was going to put her toes in his _mouth_ , and that was only the start...except no. He wasn't. Suddenly, the Doctor was angry. How dare he? How _dare_ he treat her like this? As the Doctor watched her bound foot travelling up towards his face, she didn't feel scared any more. Pure rage had taken over...how dare he? _How dare he?_

No part of her body was going anywhere near his mouth. The Doctor couldn't pull her legs away. He was too strong. She couldn't pull backwards. But she could kick forwards. He wasn't expecting that. Quick as a flash, she kicked forwards, the toenail on her left big toe driving into his eye. He screamed, but continued to clutch her right foot - psychopaths have an astonishingly high pain threshold. The Doctor couldn't pull it away...but she could kick forwards with it. He wouldn't expect that. Her right foot hit home right in his neck. She felt the cartilage and gristle inside his neck underneath her sole, and felt even sicker. But it did the trick. Platter coughed and gagged, letting her go and clutching his neck. Heaving, he fell to the floor. All the Doctor's anger had been in those kicks.

And she didn't wait for him to recover. She leapt up, grabbed her jester's shoes from the floor, and ran.

The Doctor didn't stop running. She raced to the Tardis as fast as she could, her feet bare and her shoes in her hand. Several UNIT soldiers threw her wistful, knowing looks as she ran, so fast that she felt she was flying. She staggered from the cesspit and saw that wonderful blue shape just ahead, parked in front of the old tennis courts. Grabbing the key from her pocket, she fumbled with it, finally getting it into the lock and practically falling through the doors.

Inside, she calmed down at once. She wiped the dirt from her bare soles, feeling entirely calm and clear-minded. She popped her shoes back on. Tricky wasn't here, so she couldn't leave yet. She sat down on the seat by the console and stared into space. Then she burst into tears. She sobbed openly, clutching her damp, miserable face in her hands, weeping more than she'd wept in years. It wasn't so much what he had done that terrified her. It had been unpleasant, humiliating and scary. But that wasn't what made her cry. She'd seen it in his eyes, as that clammy hand of his had started creeping up her leg. It's not what he had done, but what she knew he would have done to her...

What had happened? It had just been a normal day! She just walked in, and he'd done that! Why? How dare he? How _could_ he? He knew all that she'd done for this planet! All the times she'd saved it! It was only due to her that he lived at all! The world would have ended long ago, but for her...and yet he saw fit to...

She sobbed into her hands uncontrollably. But by that evening, when Tricky finally returned, the Doctor was dry eyed. She didn't tell her what had happened - she couldn't. Tricky sensed something was wrong of course. She did ask, but received no reply. She left it at that - she knew the Doctor wouldn't tell her what it was. So she went off to her room, and the Doctor simply stayed put, standing alone in the console room. She was working on autopilot. Her mind was going over the events of that afternoon. It was on a loop in her mind. Over and over again, the events played out in her brain. She wondered where Platter was now? Probably still at the base. Maybe in some pain, what with his damaged neck and eye. Angry, probably. Bitter, definetley. Ashamed? No. Not one bit. She knew that. Right now, he'd be talking and laughing as though nothing had happened.

And worst of all, she had to work with him...no way could she leave the Guardian of Febreton with him. The knowledge sent a wave of pain through her mind. How could she ever go near that guy again? But she had to! She owed it to his prisoner. The Guardian might technically have been enemy, but she wasn't leaving it there with him. Never. She couldn't have that on her conscience...she _had_ to work with Platter to get the Guardian home securely.

Unless...no. No, she couldn't do that...that wasn't who she was. That wasn't in the name of the Doctor...

* * *

The next day, her and Tricky trundled back into the cesspit. The Doctor's hearts were thumping, and she felt sick. Tricky knew something was terribly wrong. She asked again, but received no response again. The base was fairly quiet - there was some sort of overnight mission, and half the soldiers had been deployed. Nothing the Doctor needed to be involved in. Thank goodness. She'd had enough. Enough of this era of UNIT. Enough of the 2060's...

Just as she and Tricky were approaching the cells, Tricky grabbed the Doctor by the arm. _Voices_ , she transmitted. _In the cell block. Taylor and someone else._

That someone else, the Doctor reckoned, was Platter...suddenly, she couldn't. She couldn't do it. No chance...Tricky could deal with the Guardian...she couldn't face that animal again. She was just about to say as much, but then Tricky transmitted another thought, _they're really arguing in there!_

 _Let's listen_ , the Doctor replied at once. Suppose, just suppose, something was said...something she could use against Platter...just suppose? It was worth a listen. So, using their little spy-setup, the Doctor peeped through the door of the cellblock. Her stomach churned as she saw Bart Platter in there, dressed exactly as he had been yesterday. John Taylor was with him. Two mad men, one stocky, one skinny, having a full blown row. She could see who was speaking, and Tricky could hear it, and transmit what was said to the Doctor. So, just like when she'd caught Taylor hurting that young soldier a while back, the Doctor got the full conversation.

"I've said sorry, Bart!" Taylor was shouting, "And I am, right? But I gotta turn you in...I just gotta."

Platter said something very upsetting, spitting on the floor at Taylor's feet. "You knew! You knew about my past, Johnny boy! You chose me. You turn me in, you'll go down with me."

"But I won't Bart. It's that simple...I'll just say I _didn't_ know...you can't prove otherwise."

"You're name will still be mud," Bart said furiously, "for the fact ya took me on at all...look - I understand I can't stay, right? They've found me. I gotta go, I know that. You'll do better to let me run."

"I can't," Taylor said angrily in response. "If you get away, I'm done...out of UNIT, out of a career. Don't you get that?"

"And don't _you_ get that they'll kill me?"

"I know...and I've said I'm sorry. But you can't leave. My orders were clear - hold you here. If I let you go, I'm finished."

Then, to the Doctor's surprise, Platter smiled. It was that same wet, toothless smile that he'd had yesterday. She shuddered.

"Sorry, then." Bart Platter said, "it's come to this - you stop me running, and I'll tell 'em about your little collection..."

Taylor stiffened up, his eyes darkening. "What?"

"Well you heard. What? You think I didn't know? Yeah...go on then, detain me. Lock me up in one of these cells. I won't stop ya. But you do that, I'll die and you'll be sent to jail. Ooooooorrrr... you just let me outta this room. I'll run. You won't see me again. Even if you did lose your job...it's better than your freedom, what? Pick. One of us dead, the other in jail...or simply both of us out of a job? Which is better?"

Taylor said nothing. He simply stood there, still as a statue. Then, his fist shot out, catching Platter directly in the mouth. Platter spun to the ground, and spat a mouthful of his blood out. But then he stood back up, smiling as though nothing had happened. His eyes were cloudy and distant.

"But then...I might not tell if you were _very_ _nice_ to me..." To the Doctor's disgust, Platter grabbed his own crotch with both hands, a contorted, animalistic look on his face. "Not if you were _very, very nice_ to me...what say you? You want to hand me over? That'll buy my silence if so..."

Taylor hit him again, grabbing him by the shoulders and pressing him against the wall, holding his arms behind his back. Platter didn't fight back.

"Just get lost..." he said weakly, "get away from this place, and never come back."

"A wise choice," Platter said, grinning broadly. "Get you gone, Johnny boy - to your office. By the time you leave it next, I'll be well away. I might try the east...China, maybe? Or Singapore? What d'you think?"

Taylor didn't reply. He swept from the room, walking quickly. Too quickly. He opened the door on the Doctor and Tricky before they had the chance to hide. He jumped as he opened the door on the pair of them. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. They were always spying on him! How much had they heard this time? Well...nothing that endangered him. Thankfully, Platter hadn't elaborated further about his "little collection."

"What the blazes do you want?" He snapped.

"The Guardian of Febreton," Tricky snapped in reply, "we're taking it home. Get it saddled up."

"Ask _him_ to do it," Taylor said, pointing back into the jail cells. With that, he walked away down the corridor. The Doctor thought she saw a tear in his eye...but she wasn't sure.

Tricky went straight down into the cell - she had no idea what Platter had done yesterday. She knew the Doctor was upset...but she had no idea it was down to what he did (and what he nearly did).

"Oi," she said, "fugitive guy...before you run for it, wanna get that thing safely in the Tardis?"

The Doctor walked in behind Trickly, feeling lightheaded and jumpy. There was Platter...standing mere yards from her. His eyes met her's. She saw it - contempt. Not a single shred of remorse. Only smug, satisfied contempt.

"Hello, ladies!" He said brightly, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting up. "Here for that?" He nodded towards the cell containing the Guardian of Febreton. There it was - a massive, grand giant made of wood. It's claws were like swords, it's wooden muscles bulging. It looked at Platter's lit cigarette, fear etched on it's face.

"Yeah," the Doctor muttered, staring at the space behind Platter's head.

"Well, little miss twinkle-toes..." he smirked. "I'm afraid I'm off. As I think you overheard...or rather, as I think your buddy overheard...I'm in a spot of bother. The Feds - Americans, I mean...they're onto me. Found me, so they have. I'm off."

"Yeah, first things first, can't you just help us?" Tricky said, signing as well, "I'm sure the Doc would offer you a lift if you do...gives you a better chance of getting away."

"No," the Doctor said, "never."

Platter burst into laughter, and shrugged. "I don't blame you," he said, his cigarette hanging from his lips, "and even if you would have, I'd say no. I think my way is best. Look." He reached into his pocket and brought out a small glass bottle of some white liquid...there was some sort of fabric fuse stuffed into the top of the bottle. A firebomb.

"Keep it with me at all times," he said softly. "Always prepared. I'm leaving, see. But I don't want witnesses...oh, but...if only I had some sort of big thing on which to start the fire...something large...something that burns well..."

He rounded on the Guardian of Febreton, which sat helpless in it's cell. It whimpered in terror.

"But you can't..." Tricky said, "you heard Taylor! He's letting you go!"

"And he hit me," Platter said. "Trust me ladies, this place will burn up well. Lot's of flammables, especially upstairs in the science labs...you'll have time. Leave with me. But Taylor sure won't get out. Do you care?"

The Doctor watched Tricky's translation, and stepped forwards, looking up at the monster - Platter. Not the Guardian.

"Your not," she mumbled, "I'll stop you." The anger from yesterday was building up inside of her...

"Will you? Who knows? Another round like yesterday, and I might reconsider?"

Enough. Enough. The Doctor's little fantasy from yesterday suddenly wasn't just a fantasy. It was the only course of action left. She pulled the sonic screwdriver from her pocket and, ignoring Tricky's scream of horror, opened the Guardian of Febreton's cage.

"What are you doing?" Platter screamed, losing his cool and fumbling for his lighter. But the Guardian of Febreton was too quick. It crashed from it's open cage. Tricky grabbed the Doctor and pulled her away from it. But it had zero interest in the Doctor. It grabbed Platter and lifted him bodily from the floor, one arm wrapped round his neck, the other around his waist, hemming his arms tightly by his side.

"No!" Platter screamed. "Get it off! I'm sorry...I'll go! Just get it off me!"

The Guardian rounded on the two tiny women, standing far, far below it. "You've freed me. I won't kill you. Just take me home, and I'll spare this," it said, in a deep, harsh voice. It hadn't said a word until now. That was tradition among the Guardians of Febreton. Total silence when captured, whatever the cost.

The anger that the Doctor had felt since yesterday was burning through her. Pure, fiery rage, scorching through her veins, boiling inside her brain...she thought of what he'd done to her. She thought of what he was about to do just now...she thought of those lifeless, dreamy eyes. That wet smile that showed no teeth...she thought of his clammy, grey hands, wrapped tightly around her feet whilst she screamed at him to let her go. She thought of herself crying, along in her Tardis. Her! He'd done it to her!

This anger, this uncontrollable, sheer rage, is what made her sign these words; we're taking you home regardless. You might as well kill him. Do it. If you want."

Tricky stared at her. "Doctor..." she said in disbelief.

"Tell him," the Doctor said firmly.

Tricky rounded on the Guardian and Platter. Not looking Platter in the eye, she murmured, "she says she'll take you home whatever you do. She doesn't care."

"No!" Platter cried, as the Guardian of Febreton chuckled softly, "your the _Doctor_! You wouldn't let it! You wouldn't!"

Tricky translated Platter's last words, and the Doctor shrugged. "You didn't treat me like the Doctor." She said simply. "So for you, I'm not."

The Guardian of Febreton plunged one of it's claws into Platter's leg. Right through it. It burst out the other end. Platter screamed. "No! You can't! You can't watch someone die! You ain't capable..." Platter screamed again, as the Guardian cut a huge gash in his torso, blood seeping into his dirty t-shirt.

"Correct," the Doctor said. She couldn't bear to see or hear someone dying in agony, no matter what they'd done.

So she turned around. She couldn't see Platter die. And she couldn't hear it either.

Tricky could. She turned around too, but grimaced as she heard the sound of Platter's leg being cleanly ripped off. She heard it fall to the floor. She heard a hideous ripping noise as he was pulled apart, limb from limb. Just like the butterflies that Platter himself used to pull apart as a young boy.

Platter took a long time. The Guardian was enjoying itself - the man had threatened to burn him. He had it coming. Five minutes later, and in sheer agony, the ruined mass of butchered flesh took it's last breath as the head came off the torso. "For Febreton." It growled.

 _It's done_ , Tricky transmitted to the Doctor. Oh, how she _despised_ the Thirtieth Doctor right now! Making her listen to _that_.

 _Tell it to follow._ The Doctor said. And without looking round, she marched from the cellblock, Tricky close behind. The Guardian of Febreton lumbered after them.

Platter was right about one thing - he said he'd be gone by the time Taylor looked again. All that Taylor found that evening was a pile of mangled, scarlet human debris.

* * *

Did he deserve it? Did he not? Was the Doctor right? Was she wrong? No doubt everyone has their own opinions there.

But the Doctor calmed down eventually. And when she did, those questions began to haunt her.

They're still haunting her now, long after the emotional turmoil finally proved too much, and drove her into retirement. She just couldn't carry on. Nothing she saw was wonderful anymore. Nothing amazed or inspired her. It was all Bart Platter. Everywhere she went, everything she did, he was there on her mind. What he'd done, and whether or not she was right to allow his torture and death...

It's still haunting her now, long after retirement. Why do you think she's passing the fate of Thomasina Wrench into Clara's hands? Because she can't make that choice again. It will ruin her if she has to.


	30. Time Enough At Last

**_Mayfair - The Last Victim - 3PM_**

* * *

Now, suppose...just suppose...that it wasn't really all that clever to start again?

Suppose it would have been better to repair the Panoptican, and then just have gone somewhere else?

Suppose...just suppose, mind you...but suppose she was in real danger right now?

Thomasina Wrench thought that maybe it wasn't so wise to have started the harvest here in Mayfair again after all. She was sat in her office, deep in the Panoptican, and she couldn't help but feel a little anxious right now. I mean...surely the first time was a fluke, right? Surely the Second Doctor and his two little friends beat her by pure, sheer luck? It couldn't have been any other way. The Doctor was not superior to her, in any way. And the idea that any human could harm her was laughable!

And yet Jamie McRimmon killed her! When she was Tomasz, that is. He killed Tomasz Wrench! He! A dimwitted, hapless human from a primitive age! How could that be?

Luck...simply luck. Obviously.

But what if they got "lucky" again? There were more of them this time...

It wasn't fair! It wasn't meant to happen this way! She was _the Other!_ She couldn't be gotten the better of! Not again...

They were on their way, right now. On their way to kill her. And could they succeed? No! No...no, surely not?

And yet...and yet...

Thomasina's turmoil was finally interrupted by a knock on the door. She grinned. Even if they did succeed (which they wouldn't and couldn't), they were too late to save this new customer whom had entered her Tardis.

"Come, come!" She said brightly. The door opened. In walked her lumbering, hideous assistant, dressed in his filthy, stinking rags.

"This is Stuart Salter, madam," he grunted. "Here for some work. He'd like to register with us."

"Some work?" Thomasina repeated, grinning broadly at the man. He was a skinny little thing, probably in his mid-twenties. He wore jeans and a green hoodie. His skin was smeared with fake-tan, and he had gelled hair. He looked, thought Thomasina, a little like a rat. "Some work? Excellent! Good, good, good, good, good! Sit down! You've come to the right place!"

She glanced at her assistant. He mouthed the words "recruitment agency" to her. She nodded discreetly, and turned back to the young man, who hadn't noticed the exchange. He was too busy staring incredulously at Thomasina's hideous outfit. Bright scarlet, massive frills, and a face literally caked with makeup. She didn't look like a job agency boss...but then, he didn't look like a rugby player. He was - he might have been small, but he was quick. Scored a lot. Not that he'd been playing much recently. Rather like Ellie Oswald, fifteen short years ago, he'd been brought to the Other's lair due to desperation for work. And as he'd been walking through Mayfair, his ever dwindling back balance on his mind, he suddenly saw a job agency. The Panoptican Recruitment Agency Ltd.

He sat down opposite Thomasina. "All righty then!" She exclaimed. "Thomasina, that's my name! Finding jobs, that's my game! It is today, anyway! What's you after? Manual work? Office? Full time, part time? Flexi-time? Name it!"

"Um...just anything, really. Worked as a cashier 'til recently, but I got let go. Just whatever pays the bills."

"Oh?" Thomasina giggled. "Let go? As in fiiiired? For legal reasons, I have to know why." That was nonsense of course. But Thomasina Wrench was nosy.

Stuart Salter looked at the surface of the desk, turning a little red. "Stealing."

Thomasina shrieked with laughter. "Stealing? Ya ratty lil' lowlife! Ha ha! How much we talkin'?"

Stuart looked up. "Am I obliged to answer that? Seven hundred quid, if you must know."

"Thief!" Thomasina leapt to her feet and cartwheeled over the desk, sitting on the edge of it, narrowly missing Stuart who skidded backwards on his seat to avoid her. "Thief in the house! Thief! Lock up the valuables! Lock up your old people! Thereeee's a thief! He wants a job! I tell ya!"

Stuart glared at her, and stood up from his chair. "Your mocking me. Great. I can see I'm wasting my time."

"Not at all, not at all! I got the perfect job for you! Puuuuuuurrrrrrfect!"

"Oh, really?" Stuart asked sarcastically. He was starting to feel uneasy...this place was _way_ too big. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

Thomasina could see the doubt starting to form in his mind, and knew it was time to stop playing. Shame...sometimes she could wind them up a lot more before they started to realize how very wrong things were...

"I'm out," he said, rushing for the door. Thomasina rushed at him, and caught him by the arm. The harvest made her strong - Rachel Rogers, killed just a few hours before, had made her strong. Her fingers pierced holes in Stuart Salter's arms, and he screamed out in pain. She gave him a light slap round the face, and knocked him spark out.

Right on cue, the creature came back in. The same creature that brought Ellie to her death. And the two thieves. Rachel Rogers, too. And so many others.

"Abattoir?" It asked.

"Ayyyyup." Thomasina said, grinning. "Extra dinner!"

The creature gave a gurgling laugh and ambled from the office, carrying Stuart like a sack of spuds. Thomasina felt a little better now. She'd be strong after this. And she needed to be strong for tonight...

* * *

 ** _Clara's Tardis, 4PM_**

* * *

"There's something I want to say now," the Doctor mumbled verbally, surprising Clara a little. For longer sentences, she usually spoke through Tricky. Not this time. Though the words got fumbled a little bit, but everyone understood. Everyone listened to her.

"So," now the Doctor did begin to sign, and Tricky took over, "we've spent hours planning this, and really we've got little to show for it...we find the place, which Jo assures us should be easy. If I just instinctively knew the way when me and her went last time, it should be the same this time."

 _It's not your instinct Doctor,_ Clara thought to herself. _It's the old man. It's always the old man._

"Frankly, I think it's very unlikely we'll all survive. If any of us. But here's what we've come up with - firstly, we get there. Duh. Secondly, we go in...again, duh. Then, Clara uses the golden disc, and Jamie will remember what happened last time. When he finished off Tomasz Wrench. We use that to do the same again. We use the ice gun to take out the guards. Then, we find _her_. Once we do, Clara uses the ice gun to kill or capture her...and that's...that's our plan. You know, it pains me to say it, but I can't help thinking it would be better to call in UNIT. We've spent hours thinking, and that's literally the only plan that seems remotely possible..."

Nobody spoke. Finally, Jack piped up. "Well that," he said simply, "is s-"

"So then," Clara said loudly, standing up and clapping her hands together, "before we...well before we _maybe_ do it, there's just one thing I quickly need to clear up. Doctor, if I may?"

The Doctor nodded, and sat herself down in Clara's seat. Tricky sat next to her and slouched in her seat, like she was bored.

Clara took a deep breath. "Who was it who asked me...Ian? You asked me last night..."

"Yes, about those creatures." Ian agreed. "The soldiers, or whatever they are."

"Yeah," Clara said, "I promised I'd tell you when the time is right. And considering we might well have to kill them to get at Thomasina, I think the time is right now - I'm afraid they're us."

There was a ringing silence.

"Us?" Jo repeated incredulously, "how can they be us?"

"They are human," Clara explained quietly. "Or were. There was a chemical attack on a human colony once, many years ago now. So many were exterminated...but the survivors...they were ruined. Poisoned, deformed, mutated...and this colony, they either could not or would not look after them. They dumped them. On Sabb-Landon Xavier 1. Left them to die on a desert planet. Can you think what saved them?"

"Tomasz Wrench." Jo said solenmly.

Clara nodded. "Tomasz Wrench. Saved them, built them an empire, and taught them to hate the people who abandoned them. They bred, and prospered. As intelligent as humans, and human in nature...but even now, the descendants are plagued with deformities. Whatever weapons were used in that attack, they caused genetic changes, which were passed down. They're people. They're us. Yet they've been taught and trained to hate us with every fiber of their being."

"The Other saved them?" Amy said incredulously.

"Depends on how you look at it," Clara said, "he could have done so much for them...could have taken them off that planet. Gotten them treatment...he didn't. He charmed them, with big cities and promises of prosperity. Enslaved them. Trained them to hate. To kill. I don't call that saving them."

"We could try and explain that!" Martha suggested. "Tell them! Try and make them see..."

"No point," Lady Me said at once, "they're devoted to Wrench absolutely...nothing we say will change that. And if we're gonna get her, then..."

"I'd do it." Jamie said. "I'd kill them, if I had to. Och, I might have already done it! Won' know 'til I get my memories back."

Just then, a light flared up on Clara's console. "S'cuse me," she said, wheeling around to check it. It was the telepathic circuit. She touched the panels and shut her eyes. She listened for a moment, listened to whoever (or whatever) it was which was talking to her. Then, she let go. Her face was gloomy. She turned around slowly, to face the waiting audience...

"Two more," she said. "This afternoon. We've been so busy trying to form some sort of coherent plan, and in that time, she's killed two more people..."

"Clara," the Doctor said, "who _was_ that?"

"Doesn't matter," Clara said, "he never lies, though. Two more people! We could have saved them...we could at least have tried...we acted as though we had all the time in the world to make a plan."

"Don't blame yourself," Lady Me said, "w...what shall we do? Call in UNIT? Finish this?"

"Stuff UNIT." Clara said firmly. All of her delaying, and all of her worries, and all of her silly little plans...and this is what it came down to - they still had no idea how to beat Thomasina, and now two more people had died. Two more people who might just possibly have been saved. It was enough. "I'm ready, guys." Clara said. "I mean it."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Okay," Martha said firmly, suddenly getting up from her chair. "okay. Let's try."

Clara rounded on the Doctor. "You agree, don't you?"

The Doctor smiled. "Yes. I think so."

Captain Jack laughed nervously, "we don't have a hope, guys," he said, giggling, "not a hope."

"No." Ian Chesterton agreed. "But we're the only ones who know enough to even have a go...we have to."

Everyone stood up. The Doctor handed the ice gun to Clara.

"This is your's now," she mumbled, "your choice."

"I never chose any of this," Clara said, "Thomasina chose it for herself. The day she killed my mum..."

"Come on." Lady Me said, setting the co-ordinates and priming the engines for flight. "Let's do it. To Mayfair?"

Clara nodded. "To Mayfair. Let's finish it. One way or the other. If you'll pardon the pun."


	31. Jamie - A Story of the Second Doctor I

**_Mayfair, 2020, 6PM._**

* * *

As if my magic, Clara and Lady Me's Tardis materialized right outside the Panoptican. Clara smiled knowingly as Jack muttered something about "luck." Ha! Luck? As if. Clara wondered, quite suddenly, whether any of this had truly been her idea...oh, she'd had plenty of moments where she'd felt nervous about proceeding. She'd thought long and hard before contacting anybody. Yet now, facing the dilapidated, brick building that was in reality the Panoptican (it hadn't bothered trying to disguise itself properly in the face of so many people), she suddenly wondered if she'd have _been able_ to not do it...for the first time, she wondered just how much (if at all) she was in control of these events...had any of it been her plan at all?

Or _his_?

They formed a line on the pavement, facing the Panoptican. Clara glanced over her shoulder. Her Tardis was disguised as a green recycling bin. She looked down the line at Jamie, who's face was pale but set.

"It's time." The Doctor said.

"Come on over here, Jamie," she said softly, pulling the disc from her pocket. He came over to her slowly.

"I...I remember..." he said faintly, looking up and down the deserted, darkened street. "Nearly...we were here. Me, the Doc and Zoe...we were on this street. Then somewhere else...somewhere dark. Do you remember, Doctor?"

The Doctor watched Tricky's translation and shook her head. "Not at all." Even if the memories hadn't been wiped, she wouldn't have remembered. Her second life was many thousands of years ago now.

Jamie took a deep breath. "Whew!" He said, laughing nervously, "I'll not lie ta ya. I'm scared stiff now."

"I know," Clara said softly, "are you ready?"

He nodded. The Doctor took his arm gently. "Good luck." She smiled sadly.

Jamie grinned. "Ach, it'll take more than a bad memory to ruin a McRimmon! Do it!"

Clara turned the light on the golden disc on. Everyone watched nervously as Jamie's expression changed at once.

"Over here!" He said at once, crossing the road without looking. The others hurried after him, somewhat alarmed. Thankfully there were no cars. This street was always quiet. Most people avoided it, without ever quite knowing why.

Jamie stopped them on the pavement just outside the Panoptican. "I was righ' here! Standin' righ' here! And then"

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2010, The Sixth Encounter_**

* * *

 _The Second Doctor stopped suddenly. Outside an ugly brick building, which looked as though it had been abandoned for years._

 _"Oh my word!" The Doctor exclaimed, staring up at the building. "Oh my giddy aunt!"_

 _"Aye," Jamie laughed, "what a wreck."_

 _"No, no, no, Jamie!" The Doctor snapped, "this isn't what it seems! Oh dear, oh dear! This is terrible."_

 _"Whatever's the matter, Doctor?" Zoe asked, looking up at the big brick building apprehensively._

 _"Well, Zoe, I rather fear...I rather fear they've found me. Or rather, I've found them...this is a Tardis!"_

 _"A Tardis?" Jamie repeated, "But why's is so big on the outside? Not like your's!"_

 _"Hush!" The Doctor snapped, uncharacteristically tetchy. "Well...I suppose...I suppose we should go in..."_

 _The Doctor didn't want to. He was on the run from the Time Lords at this point in his life. And yet people were vanishing...and here was a Tardis. It couldn't be a coincidence. And it couldn't be ignored. That wasn't who he was. He never turned his back on trouble._

 _So in they went, through the dirty, rusted glass door. The room beyond was large and utterly empty. Usually, this room took whichever form was required for snaring the victims...but today, it was empty. The walls were green, with roundels. The floor was patterned red. But it was utterly empty._

 _"Hey, look at the walls!" Jamie laughed. "Just like the Tardis, but green!"_

 _"Yes," the Doctor said, groaning, "yes...just like the Tardis. Hello! There's a door over there! In the far corner."_

 _"Where?" Jamie said, looking around. Finally, he and Zoe spotted it - a grey door in the far left corner of the room, leading further into the building. He wondered how he could have missed it when they walked in..._

 _"Come along," the Doctor said, his face glum. "Let's go..."_

 _The three friends walked across the room and opened the door. Beyond that door was_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2020_**

* * *

A labyrinth of corridors. Clara counted seven different directions, sprawling off at angles from the empty room. Behind her, Jo let out a soft, terrified moan. She'd been here before. Captain Jack threw his arm around her and held her tightly.

"Which one, Jamie?" Clara asked, "which one did you take?"

"Uh...we took...we took...this one. The fourth one."

Clara looked at the fourth one. It was endlessly long - it seemed to stretch forwards, in a straight line, for miles. "You sure?"

"Aye...I can remember. There's challenges to come, ya know. Be prepared."

"Challenges?" Amy exclaimed, "what do you mean challenges?"

"Like Jo's Shan...er, thing. And The Brigadier's Yeti. There's a monster here for everyone. Plucked from our pasts, or our futures. Not for me or Jo. We both had our ones already. Long ago. Her's was a...what was it called?"

"Shansheeth," Jo said.

"Righ'. And mine was a"

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2010_**

* * *

 _"Redcoat!" Jamie exclaimed as a eighteenth-century Scots soldier emerged from a wooden door way up ahead, on the left of the grey, murky corridor. He sported a bright red jacket. He held a wooden, single shot rifle. He glared at Jamie and raised the gun._

 _"Mess with a McRimmon, would ye?" Jamie said, pulling a small knife from his kilt and charging fearlessly at the man, "Creag an Tuire!"_

 _Zoe screamed and pressed her face against the Doctor. Zoe hated violence. The Doctor merely watched, his face screwed up with confusion. What was a redcoat doing here? It made no sense..._

 _Then, he understood. "No Jamie!" He shouted, rushing after Jamie, clutching Zoe's hand. "No, no, no! He's a shadow! You must_ deny _him!"_

 _But Jamie wasn't listening. He was real! Solid, angry and armed! Jamie had to kill him! He had to! He was rushing down the corridor, his blade raised for the kill. He heard the Doctor screaming behind him, but blotted the sound out. He had to! He had to keep them safe.  
_

 _"No!" The Doctor repeated, rushing in front of Jamie, clutching his chest. "Look at him! Really look! He can't hurt you, but we can't get past until you accept he's not real! Imagine him dying!"_

 _"You wha'?" Jamie said incredulously, trying to push past the Doctor. But the Doctor held him firm._

 _"Look at him, and just_ imagine _him dropping down dead! Do it!"_

 _Jamie doubtfully obliged...at first, nothing happened. Then, with a pop, the redcoat simply vanished._

 _Jamie stared at the empty space which the redcoat had vacated. "Wha' was that about?" He exclaimed._

 _"Bad dreams." The Doctor said, "nothing but bad dreams...come on."_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2020_**

* * *

The first bad dream was for Martha. It came out of a wooden door, on the exact spot which Jamie's redcoat had come from. It was definetley for Martha. Couldn't have been anybody else. It was a Carrionite. A hideous, wrinkled witch-like female, with green-brown skin, messy hair and razor sharp fingernails. She wore a black robe.

She cackled. Martha recoiled (as did everyone), and moved backwards from her. She grinned, showing razor sharp teeth.

 _"Upon this day, me you did wake, and now your lives are mine to take!"_ She hissed, pointing a clawed finger at the group.

"Who's it fer?" Jamie asked desparatley.

"Me!" Martha said, "I think..."

The Doctor grabbed Martha and moved her forwards to the front of the group. "Not real!" she said, her voice way too loud, "Imagine it gone!"

Martha looked the Carrionite up and down. She thought back to that time, where she'd met them for real...the Tenth Doctor had trapped them in a crystal ball! Martha imagined the creature, trapped in a crystal ball. And that's what happened.

"Easy!" She said.

"Aye," Jamie said quietly, "that's just what we thought at first...come on."

They continued down the corridor. Martha resumed her place near the back, next to Mickey, and in front of Amy and Rory. They'd formed a natural procession, without anybody really saying so. Clara, Jamie and the Doctor were up front, with Lady Me and Tricky just behind. Their wing-women, you might say. Behind them, the companions were pooled together in one big group. The two married couples - Smith's and Pond's - were holding hands with their respective spouses. Jack was sticking close to Jo, who seemed close to fainting. Ian walked close behind Tricky.

Before long, another wooden door appeared, this time on the right hand side. It burst open.

"You've gotta be kidding!" Mickey yelled. A Cyberman came stomping through the open door.

 _"Delete! Delete! Delete!"_ It droned, marching towards them quickly. This was his. True, it could have been a lot of their nightmares. But Mickey knew it was his. After him, it would be Ian. Then Jack. Then it would skip Jo, and go to Amy. There was a deliberate pattern, a pattern which matched the order in which Clara summoned them all back for the final battle...

She was watching, all right. Thomasina was watching them get closer...

Mickey moved to the front, and shut his eyes. In his mind, he pictured himself ripping off the chest logo (granting himself super-human strength in the little fantasy) and turning off the emotional inhibitor, blowing it up.

He opened his eyes. Nothing. The Cyberman continued to stomp towards the crowd, it's hands outstretched.

"Why ain't it working?" He cried, trying again to imagine himself destroying it. No luck.

"By heck!" Tricky exclaimed as the Cybermen took a swipe at her. She ducked her head just in time - another tenth of a second, she'd have been caught.

Except she wouldn't...it wasn't real!

Then Mickey understood - it wasn't real, no. But nor was his superhuman strength...so, changing tact, he imagined himself shooting it with a laser weapon. At once, the Cybermen gave an electronic scream and exploded. Everyone screamed - it was standing right in front of them, and they should have been burnt, cut to pieces by shrapnel. But that didn't happen.

"Shadows," the Doctor repeated. "Let's carry on."

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2010_**

* * *

 _"Now are you both ready to carry on?" The Second Doctor asked._

 _"Oh must we?" Zoe exclaimed, "this place is the stuff of nightmares!"_

 _"Yes," the Doctor said, "but look - a little way down, I can see a fork in the corridor."_

 _Jamie glanced up ahead. Sure enough, there was. A four way fork of corridors. Hard left, to the left, to the right or hard right. The friends carried on, heading down the long, long corridor to the fork. Funny - Jamie was sure it hadn't been there a moment ago._

 _A little way along...or was it miles later than the first one...another door appeared. Another wooden door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Zoe," the Doctor said gently, "but I think this is for you, my dear."_

 _"But what is it?" Zoe said nervously._

 _"Well, I expect we'll find out," the Doctor said. Right on cue, the door creaked open...and two men walked out. One was large, stocky and fair-haired. The other was small and balding, with a scar across one side of his face. One of them - the large one - wore an old fashioned British military suit. The other wore some sort of overcoat._

 _"Who are you?" Zoe gasped. The two men were glaring down at her. The Doctor and Jamie frowned._

 _"Ye mean ya know who they are?" Jamie demanded._

 _"No!" Zoe insisted. "I've never seen them in my life!"_

 _But she would do. One day. They all would. It was two of the War Lords - General Smythe and Von Weich. Two aliens, masquerading as British and German World War One officers respectivley..two monsters from another world, whom they would meet in due course - on their final adventure together. The fall of the Second Doctor._

 _They were both armed. They pointed their revolvers directly at Zoe's heart._

 _"Stand your ground," the Doctor said firmly, "they can't hurt you! Whoever they are."_

 _"But they look so real!" Zoe exclaimed._

 _"Yes, I know! They're here to hold us up, but that's all. Believe that, and we'll get past, my dear!"_

 _Zoe looked up at the two men, shaking violently - having a gun pointed at her was terrifying, even thought she knew (or hoped) it was just a nightmare..._

 _But then they pulled triggers. Zoe screamed and tried to run_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair, 2020_**

* * *

"Away!" Ian said firmly to the caveman, which lumbered towards him, sharpened stone in hand. His hair was black and oily, his beard wild. He wore nothing but a brown fur. "Get away!"

The caveman only grunted. Ian stood his ground, a frail old skinny man, toe to toe with a stocky great orge of a man. "I said get away!" Ian repeated, as the caveman raised it's makeshift knife. Suddenly, with a pop, it became a rose. A big pink rose, with a thorny stem. The caveman dropped it at once, crying out in pain. Looking confused, he stared down at his hand, which was bleeding, the thorns having poked little holes in his dirty flesh. Howling, he raced back through the wooden door in the wall, and slammed it shut behind him.

Ian smiled gently. "Easy."

Up ahead was a fork - four separate directions in which to go.

Clara looked up at Jamie, "which one did you take?"

"Er...I dunno...it's coming back to me slow, if ya know what I mean. Once we're there, I'll..."

He cut off abruptly. From the same wooden door that the caveman had emerged from, and retreated to, something else came out. A boy. A small boy in a grey cotton jacket, with grey cotton shorts. Wearing a gasmask.

"Mummy?" He said curiously, looking at the group. "Are you my mummy?" He asked the Doctor. The Doctor had no idea he'd spoken at all, of course - his face was covered by a gasmask. No - his face _was_ the gasmask. He had no mouth.

Jack pushed to the front. "That's my cue," he said.

"Mummy?" The little boy asked Jack curiously, staring at him through large round eyeholes.

"Sure thing, kid. And I'm angry! Your up way past your bedtime, champ! Go to your room right now. _Right now_. Go on - beat it."

The boy titled his head to the side and shuffled back through the door sadly. Jack grinned, and wheeled round. "Now _that's_ easy."

"Your a natural," Clara laughed.

"Nay!" Jamie said, "I keep telling ya - this bit's meant to be easy! Just to hold us up a little. Give them time to trap us..."

"When did that happen?" Lady Me asked. "When did the soldiers appear?"

"I cannae rememer jus' yet," Jamie said, clutching his temples, "it's comin' back, but...slow...Smythe and Von Weich were gonna shoot Zoe- blimey, it was Smythe and Von Weich! I can't believe tha'...we'd not met 'em at the time. and she couldn't imagine them away...so"

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _Jamie grabbed Zoe to stop her running. The Doctor stood between her and the two men, the guns now pointing directly at his chest rather than hers._

 _"Now see, Zoe," he said gently, "I'm not afraid. These men aren't real. They can't shoot me! But only you can imagine them away. They're for you. Look, we can't get past until you do." The Doctor tried to touch them, but there was a solid, invisible barrier blocking the path._

 _"Oh, but..." Zoe shut her eyes and shook her head. She opened them again. The men were still there. "But...but the guns are jammed!" She said. "Yes! They can't use them! What's more, they're both very tired!"_

 _With another pop, the two men were asleep in bed. Jamie burst in raptorous laughter. "See! Tha's the way!"_

 _"Oh, well done Zoe!" The Doctor laughed, hugging her and Jamie tightly. "You did it!"_

 _"Yes..." Zoe said reluctantly, "oh, but Doctor...look!"_

 _The Doctor and Jamie looked up ahead, where Zoe was pointing. The fork in the corridor - it had been miles up ahead when they'd looked a couple of moments ago. Now it was about ten steps away...they carried on walking, the invisible barrier lifted._

 _"Which way?" Jamie asked, as they approached. The branching corridors were not straight like this one. They twisted off in different directions._

 _"Well, er..." the Doctor said..."eenie, meenie, minee, mo!" He shut his eyes and pointed at one of them randomly. The_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"Second left one!" Jamie said, remembering at last. "Definetley!"

Clara nodded. She looked around at her rabble of companions. "Everyone all right?"

"Oh sure!" Amy lied.

"Never better!" Martha fibbed.

"Yeah, good ta." Tricky lied bluntly.

Clara nodded. And the team set off down the same corridor that Jamie had walked with another Doctor, oh so long ago...


	32. Jamie - A Story of the Second Doctor II

**_Mayfair 2010, The Sixth Encounter_**

* * *

 _The second corridor was much the same as the first - grey, paintless and drab. The wooden doors, and the enemies they housed, were gone. As if the Panoptican had given up, almost. But this didn't cheer the Doctor up at all._

 _"I've come to think," he said suddenly as they carried on walking, "that we're in real danger here."_

 _"But why?" Zoe asked. "Surely if this is a Tardis, it's one of your own people?"_

 _The Doctor nodded. "Why, yes. But back home...well, not everybody was as nice as me, Zoe! No, whomever this Tardis belongs to is the person responsible for the disappearances. I'm sure of it."_

 _"But why?" Jamie asked, "what are they doing in here?"_

 _The Doctor shook his head. "I"_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"Don't know," Tricky replied shortly when Ian finally had to ask how much further - his legs were seizing up.

"Want me to carry you?" Jack asked, "How 'bout a fireman's lift?"

"Certainly not." Ian said. "Who's complaining? Most certainly not me. Just asking."

The second corridor was just like the first. But there were more of them this time...the wooden doors weren't finished with them yet. Another one burst open and out came...nothing at all.

But then the lights flashed out, trapping the team in darkness - just for a second - and in the doorway stood a statue. A granite grey statue of an angel, with big stone wings and a stone dress. It's hands were covering it's face.

"Don't blink." Amy said instinctively. "Don't even blink."

But then the lights flashed out again. When they turned on, the Weeping Angel's hands had come away from it's face. It was staring at the crew, it's face passive, it's eyes grey.

"But it's stone!" Jo exclaimed, "how's it doing that?"

"It's only stone when your looking at it," Martha said.

The lights blinked again. The angel's mouth was wide open now, rows of sharp teeth glaring out. Rows of sharp, _stone_ teeth.

Then, the lights blinked again. When they came back on, the angel was holding a mirror. Looking at itself - it would never move again. It vanished.

Amy frowned. "I didn't do that..."

"Don't look at me," Martha said. "That was your one..."

"Our one," Rory said. "Mine and Amy's...I did it."

"Quick thinking," Clara grinned. "Wonder why you were sharing?"

"That's not just any angel," Amy said, "that was the one that took us away from the Doctor..."

"How can you tell?" Rory asked, clutching Amy's hand.

Amy shrugged. "I just know."

Clara shrugged as well. "I guess that it's mine or Me's next, huh?" she asked nervously. "Assuming it doesn't work on-"

"No, it don't." Tricky confirmed. "Won't work on me or the Doc."

But no more phantoms appeared for a long while. The team walked deeper into the maze, following Jamie's directions - the further they went, the more he remembered. Left, right, right again, left, left, left and left again...all without incident. No phantoms, no guards...just endless murky corridors, punctuated by the occasional random metal door (all of those were locked).

"Just a thought..." Lady Me said suddenly, "strikes me that we're in deep...Jamie, will you remember the way back out?"

"Will the way out even be the same, more to the point?" Jo asked, "these corridors change...if you think about it, we should have doubled back on ourselves...we haven't. Makes no sense...what if we're trapped?"

 _The old woman's asking what if we're trapped,_ Tricky transmitted to the Doctor.

The Doctor turned to Jo. "Don't worry," she mumbled. "We'll get out."

Maybe.

Suddenly, Jamie stopped. Lady Me crashed into him. "What is it?" She demanded, rubbing her nose.

"We were here!" He exclaimed. "Righ' here...we met a guard, righ' here...we were jus' walking, when all of a sudden"

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _A creature burst out from around the bend in front of them. He wore khaki rags, that looked as though they may have been a uniform at one stage. Zoe screamed - the man was repulsive. Covered in warts, his mouth lopsided, his skin grey-brown and pockmarked._

 _Repulsive, and armed. He raised a small, silver pistol._

 _"Another nightmare?" Jamie asked._

 _The Doctor shook his head. "No...no, I don't think so."_

 _The soldier (if that's what it was) walked slowly towards the team, gripping the gun tightly. The Doctor thrust his arms up way above his head. "We surrender!" He said at once. "Tell me, who's in charge here?"_

 _The soldier spoke in a rasping, gravelly voice. "Tomasz Wrench. He's been eager to meet you again for such a long time! Ten years, in fact. Come."_

 _"Oh, what a splendid idea!" the Doctor said. "But we'll find our own way, thanks!" He gripped Jamie and Zoe's hands and wheeled them around to escape. But they couldn't - the way back was gone. In it's place, a solid metal wall._

 _The guard got level with them and pointed the weapon at the Doctor's face. It's own hideous face was contorted with mock-rage.  
_

 _"You leave him alone!" Jamie barked, trying to pull his knife back out. The Doctor slapped his hand away._

 _"Wise move," the creature growled. It's breath smelled, so Jamie thought, of sewage. He was nearly sick, there and then. "I'll have no problem killing the humans...but_ you _, Doctor, are a different case. Come - Mr. Wrench is waiting."_

 _"Oh," the Doctor said, "oh, splendid...well...you'd better lead the way."_

 _"Oh, no." The guard laughed. He grabbed the Doctor by the scruff of his neck and threw him forwards. He did the same to Jamie, and then to Zoe. Zoe cried out, and Jamie caught her. She was such a little thing, and the guard had nearly sent her flying. "You will lead the way." It said softly. "Follow my directions."_

 _The three friends held hands and carried on down the corridor, the guards gun pointing at their backs. Onto the real challenge...onto Tomasz Wrench._

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"Then we're getting close!" Clara exclaimed. "Where did he take you?"

"I cannae remember," Jamie said, "but it didn't take long! Come on, I remember the directions! This way! Come, come!"

He bounced ahead eagerly. "Come on!" He said. But Clara ignored him. She'd gone pale, her large eyes blooming into two huge balls. There was another wooden door. It had just appeared. And it was for her. It was open.

"What took you so long?" moaned a woman's voice from inside the dark room. A shape was coming to the doorway. The shape of a woman - a tall woman.

Clara's lower lip trembled. "Mum?" She whimpered.

Ellie Oswald moved from the dark room and out into the corridor. She wore a smart blouse and trousers, but they were old and musty now...they were the same clothes she'd worn fifteen years ago, to her interview with Mr. Tomasz Wrench.

"I couldn't get out," Ellie cried, taking Clara's hand gently in her's. "I tried...I wandered around for days. I just wanted a job, Clara..."

Tears were running down Clara's cheeks. "I know," she whispered, "I know..."

"Take me home," she whimpered, "back to your dad."

"Clara..." the Doctor murmured, "she's not real."

"Shut up, Doctor," Clara said in a choked voice, stroking her mother's cheek gently. "Just shut up..." Clara knew what she had to do - imagine her away. Imagine her dying, or getting trapped or something...but she couldn't. How could she do that? It was her mum!

"I can't," she said, "I can't..."

"I love you, Clara," Ellie said softly, wrapping her arms around Clara. "My little girl...you'll always be my little girl."

"You haven't aged at all, mum," Clara whispered.

Ellie ignored her. "I just wanted to make you happy," she sobbed, burying her face in Clara's hair, "that's the only reason I came...to support you through university. To make you happy...that's the only reason I was here."

Clara let out a strangled sob. "I know, mum..." Clara whispered. She was standing on tip-toe to hug her, just like she had on that wretched day fifteen years ago. "And I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..."

She pulled away from her mother. "I love you. But your _not_ my mum." She said. Suddenly, Ellie Oswald was trapped in a cage with little wheels on the bottom. She was rolled back through the wooden door, which snapped just and vanished.

Tricky whistled. "All done. Anyway, shall we press on?"

But Clara couldn't press on. She sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The Doctor shoved Tricky aside and bent down, cradling her.

"It was my fault," Clara sobbed, her head resting on the Doctor's bony shoulder, "it was right...she wanted a job to look after _me_...it was always for me."

The Doctor couldn't hear her, but Lady Me answered. "It was not your fault." She said firmly, crouching down with the other two. The companions looked on, their faces gaunt and upset.

"I just wanted her to be happy!" Clara yelled, tears spilling out of her eyes and leaving tracks in her red cheeks, "that's all I wanted..."

"I know," Lady Me insisted. Jamie hesitated a little, and then bent down, putting a large hand on Clara's shoulder. She looked up, her face a mess of tears and smeared makeup.

"It wasn' your fault." He said softly. "Don' go thinking tha' for even a moment. You hear? Not ever. It was the Other's fault. He did it. An' now I think I know the way to...her. We're so close. Come on - on yer feet. Let's go an' tell her wha' we think about all this. Come on."

Clara let out a hiccup and nodded, allowing the Doctor and Lady Me to lift her slowly up. Jo handed her a tissue, which she used to wipe her face with. "I just wanted her to be happy." Clara repeated, screwing up her face against the tears.

"She had you," the Doctor mumbled. "That would make any mother happy."

Clara took a deep, shaky breath and blew her nose. "All right."

Jamie nodded, and led the way. Down to the corner where the soldier had appeared (no soldier this time), and further along that corridor. Then left. Then right. Then left...

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _And then right again. Then left. Blimey! Jamie's head was spinning. This place made absolutely zero sense._

 _And then, quite suddenly, there was a door at the bottom of a dead-end corridor. Not a wooden door. Not even one of the metal one. Well...it_ was _made of metal. But it wasn't a bit like the doors that popped up in the corridors now and again. It was huge! It had strange, circular patterns on it, and a complicated sort of lock on the front. Like a puzzle lock. It was iron grey, and imposing, at least twice Jamie's height..._

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

Lady Me dispatched her phantom easily. It had been a goblin. An ugly green goblin, with black hair, a hooked nose and pointy ears. She didn't recognize it. Clara shuddered a little - the fact she didn't recognize it meant that it was from their future. Or Lady Me's future anyway...she dreaded the day she met one of these things for real. It wielded a sharp spear, and a set of fangs. Lady Me swapped the spear for a giant candy-cane. The goblin vanished with a snarl.

And on they went, retracing the same impossible footsteps that Jamie had followed...he remembered the door. The big door. But what was beyond that? What? He couldn't for the life of him remember...

They turned right, down yet another corridor. Jamie smiled nervously. Coming up was a left turn. And around that bend was the door...Jamie's heart raced in his chest...with every passing footstep, the memories of behind that door seemed to stir more vigorously...they were caged, and fighting to get out. Fighting so, so hard. They were getting close now..."just round here," Jamie said, his voice shaking.

They had a few more steps to go...Jamie's heart was hammering uncomfortably in his chest, and his mouth was dry...closer...closer...and then they were there. With a thrill of terror, Jamie turned the corner, and saw at last the big metal door. The door covered in strange markings. This time it was unlocked.

And then Jamie remembered.

He gasped, and sank to his knees. "Oh, no..." he muttered, his breath coming in harsh, quick gasps. Rory rushed forward to examine him, worried he might be having a panic attack.

"You all right?" He asked.

"What is it?" Clara gasped, her voice still uneven.

Jamie didn't answer either of them. He was lying on the floor, resting against the wall. He stared at the door, shaking violently as he finally remembered (and wished he hadn't) what was inside. _"_ Oh, _no..."_ he repeated. He understood now why the Doctor wanted him to remember only now - had he remembered before, he'd never have come. Ever. None of them would.

The abattoir...

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _The guard unlocked the door with some weird sort of laser light. It opened upwards. It creaked and rattled as it did so. Beyond it was a massive chamber. It's walls were green, with roundels. Occupying the entire back wall was various items of machinery - things that whirred, things that grinded, and some massive great opaque tank to the right, filled with bubbling, clear fluid._

 _In the middle of the room were six or seven silver operating tables. Most of them were empty, but on one, was a naked man. And leaning over him, a man in white. It looked like he was whispering to him from this angle...but then the man stood up. There was blood on him. Blood all over his cheeks, mouth and chin. Blood all down his white blazer. There were droplets of blood on his shoes, and his hands were stained red. He had a shaved head, but on his chin was a goatee - the hairs were red._

 _Zoe screamed and pointed at the man on the table. There was a huge red and white smear of dead flesh and segments of bone where the side of his head should have been. His head was shrunken and misshapen, one side having caved in on itself. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth. But somehow...oh my God...he was alive. His eyes were open and he was groaning._

 _"Welcome," Tomasz Wrench said in a perfectly calm and reasonable voice. He smiled. His teeth were crimson with blood. "Doctor. It's been too long. Ten years for me. Hundreds of years hence for you. Or maybe not, seeing as you won't be leaving. But welcome. Welcome all of you. Welcome to the harvest."_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"I can't do it," Jamie whimpered, clutching his head in his hands. "I can't go in there...I can't."

With a shaky, stuttering voice, he told them what was in there. The abattoir. Where the Other took his victims, and slaughtered them...but it was worse than that. So much worse.

"He was _eating_ them?" the Doctor gasped, her beautiful eyes horrified.

Jamie nodded his head, the shaking refusing to subside. "Eating their brains."

"Time Lords don't do that!" Tricky said at once. "We aren't savages..."

"This one was," Jamie cried. "But there was more to it that that..."

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _Tomasz Wrench finished his meal. All that was left of the man's head (who now, thankfully, had been allowed to die) was a shriveled husk, hanging loosely from a body. Tomasz nodded at two guards who had been lurking, unnoticed, in the shadows. They grabbed the man's remains and tossed him into the big opaque tank. It had no top - they literally threw him over the side and into the fluid, which bubbled more vigorously now. The machines along the wall went crazy. The guards, and the Other, rushed over and began tampering with the controls, which adorned the machines. The machines whirred and thumped and rattled, one of them emitting a cloud of white steam. The body in the fluid began to glow an orange colour. As he did so, so did the Other. The Other groaned in satisfaction as he glowed, turning round to face the three horrified friends. The Doctor, Jamie noticed, was staring at him with more rage than Jamie had even seen the Doctor show. A strange sort of energy seemed to be coming from the Doctor. Jamie could almost feel the anger and disgust burning off of his body._

 _Finally, the body (and Tomasz) stopped glowing. A chute opened on the floor of the tank, and the body was sucked down through it._

 _"That's shameful," the Doctor said, his voice angrier and more deadly than Jamie ever imagined the Doctor's voice could be. "Shameful, and disgusting. How dare you?"_

 _"Oh? You think_ you've _the right to judge_ me _?" Tomasz said, his voice silky. "Yes - you always do. Every time our paths have crossed-"_

 _-"we've never met" The Doctor said._

 _"Yes, and no." Tomasz said. "You've met me once, but forgotten. And I've met you five times...which I remember. Oh so very well."_

 _"Your a disgrace," the Doctor said._

 _"So you've said." Tomasz Wrench said shortly. "Do you understand who I am?"_

 _The Doctor stared at the man with loathing, and hugged Zoe closer to him. "No." He said finally._

 _"I'm the Other," the man said, smiling. The Doctor shook his head._

 _"Oh, I don't think so."_

 _"But I do," Tomasz said, laughing. "Your reaction suggests that you understand what happens here? Why don't you tell them. Tell you friends, Doctor."_

 _The Doctor's face was red with anger, the likes of which Jamie was staggered to see. The Doctor never got angry like this. Ever. Not that Doctor. Except he was. He was livid._

 _"This man," the Doctor said, glaring at Wrench, "this lowly disgrace of a Time Lord is using humanity to"_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"Forcibly grow regeneration energy," Jamie told the group.

"That's low." Tricky said at once. "Doing it that way...that's so low. Ain't it Doc?"

The Doctor nodded and began to sign. Tricky translated - "back then it was thought impossible. You had your thirteen lives, and that was it. Nothing to be done. The ability to make more, it wasn't officially discovered until much later..."

"But how does it work?" Clara asked.

"What he was doing...that fluid Jamie describes, that's Time Lord bodily fluid..."

"That's gross." Amy said shortly.

"Innit just?" Tricky said grimly, still translating for the Doctor. "Works a little like this - the machinery makes the fluid secrete tiny particles of regeneration energy. They latch onto the dead body - has to be dead, a living body would just reject them. But it goes deeper than that...once said particles are latched on, they sort of seek out that same biological pattern...in other words, they seek out the missing brain - which the Other eats...

"Meaning?" Clara said quietly, sniveling a little.

"Meaning it's a hack. Back then, it would have been the only way round the regeneration limit. Revolting, messy, totally illegal. But to all intents and purposes, it worked. It allows new regeneration energy to pass into another Time Lord...because, don't you see - the Other should have died long ago. She's ancient. By far older than me."

The Doctor stopped signing. "Most Time Lords would rather die." She mumbled verbally.

"Oh!" Jamie screamed, making everyone (besides the Doctor) jump. Jamie leapt to his feet.

"I remember!" He said finally, still looking hideously faint. "The ending! I can remember it!"

"What happened?" Everyone said at once.

"Da'agon Hhai." Jamie said. Everyone but the Doctor and Tricky frowned in confusion.

"Da'agon Hhai," Tricky said. "Also known as the battle of wills. It"

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _"Isn't right," the Doctor finished, "it's depraved! Most Time Lords would rather die!"_

 _"But I wouldn't." Wrench said in his oily, calm voice, "I'm so much more than most Time Lords. And I would rather live. Is that so wrong."_

 _"Rather live?" The Doctor exploded, "rather live? Don't make me laugh! The amount of fresh regeneration energy your consuming is off the scale! Way more than you need just to live! Your gorging yourself!"_

 _Tomasz chuckled, "oh, really Doctor. Don't be so vulgar. The extra energy makes me strong. Observe." Tomasz stamped his foot, and left a huge dent in the metal floor. It repaired itself instantly. Then he rapped on one of the metal tables with his hand. It fell apart with a clang._

 _"You must be very proud," the Second Doctor said sarcastically. "So now what? You've brought me here to kill me, I presume?"_

 _Tomasz nodded, and waved a hand. There were three guards in the room, counting the one which had brought them. "Quite so," he said. "Your friends, I can use. They're healthy enough, I should think."_

 _"Shoot me down!" the Doctor shouted incredulously, "you would shoot me down? What kind of Time Lord are you? Oh no...if you want to kill me, fight me!"_

 _"Oh, Doctor..." Tomasz said, "that would be a pleasure. I wish you luck." He advanced on the Doctor, his fists clenched._

 _"Like a Time Lord!" The Doctor insisted, "fight me like a Time Lord! Will you accept the Da'agon Hhai?"_

 _The Other cried with laughter. "_ You _? Against me? My old acquaintance, I had no wish to kill you that painfully...oh dear. But now you've challenged me to it! Who am I to refuse such an offer?"_

 _"Whas' goin' on?" Jamie demanded. "What is this, a duel?"_

 _"In a way," Tomasz said. "Yes. A duel of telepathy. A duel of the mind."_

 _"We fight each other mentally," the Doctor said. "The loser will be rendered immobile. And then the winner's champion attends to the loser...in whatever way he sees fit."_

 _"But it will be hideous for you, Doctor." Tomasz laughed icily. "The things you will see...you are no match for me. Surely you know that?"_

 _The Doctor ignored him, and gently pushed Zoe away. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said gently, "but I must." He looked up at the Other. "Jamie's my champion. And about my terms - if I win, you free us all. You absolutely do no harm to either of them!"_

 _"Accepted," Tomasz said. He reached into his pockets and produced a square, metal dish. "This will take you all out safely. Your's if you win. My champion is Grunhpam." He nodded to one of the soldiers, which came over and stood a few years behind Tomasz's right shoulder. "My conditions...if I win, I take them. I take all of you!"_

 _The Doctor looked at Jamie and Zoe, his face twisted with shame. "I'm so sorry..." he said to them. He rounded on Tomasz. "Accepted." He said quietly. He rounded on Jamie. "If I beat him, he'll be unable to move." He explained. "The law of Da'agon Hhai dictates that you then apprehend or kill him."_

 _"I'll kill him." Jamie said bluntly. To his astonishment, the Doctor nodded._

 _"I don't blame you. Now listen...what I see and what I go through...you'll feel it too. Just ignore it. Blot it out, or you risk being drawn in with me."_

 _"It's time," Tomasz said. He bowed to the Doctor. The Doctor bowed back stiffly. Jamie stood behind the Doctor, to the right. Zoe stayed well back, as did the other two soldiers._

 _"Da'agon Hhai," Tomasz said softly._

 _"Da'agon Hhai," the Doctor agreed. "Commence."_

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"What did you see?" Lady Me asked Jamie. "Did the Doctor win?"

"Not as such..." Jamie said. "But he told me to do it...he told me to break the Da'agon Hhai."

"You _broke_ it?" Tricky said incredulously, "you mean you attacked him before the duel was over?"

"He told me to," Jamie repeated.

Tricky translated to the Doctor, who shook her head and signed a reply. "I'd have known better than that." She said through Tricky.

"Not you," Jamie said. "Him. That old Time Lord..."

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2010_**

* * *

 _The pain!_

 _Jamie had never felt anything like it. His mind was filled with furious, bubbling pain, the likes of which he'd never experienced. He was vaguely aware of where he was - standing in a place of horrors, next to the Doctor...but at the same time, he was everywhere! He was being pulled towards something. Not physically...there was some sort of force, emitting from the two Time Lords...it was trying to suck his mind clear out of his brain, entrapping him in the battle...the war going on inside their minds! Jamie saw snapshots of it, and groaned. All manner of horrors flashed before his eyes - Daleks, Cybermen, Ice Warriors to name a few. They were warring violently on some unseen level of existence...Jamie had to resist! He had to stay in the here and now! Whatever that was, it was the Doctor's war! His war was here! He had to kill Tomasz! And he would! He could...just as soon as the Doctor won!_

 _But the Doctor was groaning, and sweating now. His legs were wobbling beneath him. Tomasz, on the other hand, seemed strong. His and the Doctor's eyes were glowing a green-yellow, and Jamie could hear some sort of electrical crackling..._

 _"No..." Jamie screeched, as he again felt the tug of some force, trying to trap him in the hideous war that was being fought, right here and now...he saw more flashes. Some sort of hideous, stone jungle...an endless desert...a man with impossibly large muscles...the war was being fought everywhere. And anywhere...but who was stronger? Who would break first?_

 _With a cry, Jamie felt himself slipping from his body. "No..." he moaned softly...his eyes were open, but now he wasn't seeing the abattoir of the Panoptican. He saw instead the Doctor and the Other, the both of them leading huge great armies over a barren wasteland filled with snow...they were charging at each other, these two great armies...but the Other's was larger! So, so much larger! They were about to meet, a gigantic clash of steel on steel...any moment..._

 _Then it was gone. Jamie swayed on his feet. Suddenly the noise had stopped. Everything was calm. He was in a large, stone chamber...but it looked like...almost like...the room of a castle! A Scottish castle! He was in a Scottish castle! He neither felt nor heard the Doctor or the Other anymore, though on some level, he was aware that he was still in the Panoptican, standing just beside them...  
_

 _He wasn't alone. In an armchair, dressed in flowing red and black robes, was an old man. His hair was curly, and iron grey. He was short, and bearded (his short beard also grey). He looked at Jamie with an intense stare. This was, Jamie knew at once, somebody with an immense amount of power. Jamie didn't have a clue who it was, but in spite of himself, he bowed. Why? Why would he do that?  
_

 _"James Robert McRimmon," the old man said. His voice was deep and booming (and, Jamie thought, a little Scottish). "It's not going well, is it? The Doctor's losing."_

 _"Who are you, sir?" Jamie asked breathlessly, "will you help me? Can you help us?"_

 _"I don't interfere." The man barked bluntly. "Not directly. Like all Time Lords, I never interfere with the events of others. And every Time Lord is me. I do not help."_

 _"Then why have you brought me here?" Jamie said, "why? If you don't want to help."_

 _"I owe a debt," the old man said, "I don't help. But I might just advise. It seems prudent, in this instance."_

 _"How?" Jamie said, "what?"_

 _"Break the Da'agon Hhai," the old man said, smiling, "there will be consequences. Far reaching consequences. Da'agon Hhai is not to be broken...but I wrote that rule. So I'm allowed, I think, to overlook it this time...you know what you need to do?"_

 _"Yeah!" Jamie said, "let me go back!"_

 _"Indeed," the old man said, "best do it quickly, if I were you...and mind you grab that teleport."_

 _"Yes, sir!" Jamie said. The castle was fading now. So was the old man's voice. As he faded, Jamie heard him speak again, his voice echoing in the distance._

 _"And by the way..." he said, "I think the time will come when you and the Doctor will be back here. When that day comes, tell her from me - all I can really suggest is she fights the Da'agon Hhai again...it will still need to be fought to the end, someday...they'll be connected forever unless it is."_

 _Then he, along with the room, was gone. Jamie was standing in the abattoir. The Doctor, Jamie saw with horror, had sunk to his knees. Tomasz was standing over him, leering smugly._

 _"No!" Jamie screamed, pulling the knife from his pocket. Tomasz had just enough time to look up before Jamie plunged the knife into his neck._

 _"No!" the Doctor yelled, "you mustn't interfere!"_

 _"Too late," Jamie said, grabbing the teleport from Tomasz._

 _Tomasz collapsed in a heap. "K...kill them," he muttered, a bubble of blood erupting from his lips._

 _The soldiers charged for Jamie and the others, but it was by far too late..._

 _The Doctor took the teleport. "Everyone hang on!" he said, his face filled with dismay, "tight!"_

 _It wasn't working. It was glowing, and buzzing, but it wasn't taking them anywhere. "What's wrong?" Zoe screamed._

 _"Nothing." the Doctor said, sounding more relaxed. "We just need to wait a moment."_

 _"But look!" They're coming!" Zoe screamed, as the soldiers closed in. But they couldn't touch the friends. The teleporter was emitting a force field._

 _They had just enough time to watch Tomasz Wrench stand up. "Wha's happening?" Jamie gasped - orange energy was flowing from Tomasz. His head and hands were emitting clouds of the stuff. Like the energy he glowed with earlier...but there was much more of it this time._

 _"Oh my word!" the Doctor said. "Oh no! Oh my giddy aunt! You didn't kill him enough!"_

 _The teleporter was buzzing furiously now...any moment..._

 _"Until the next time," Tomasz Wrench said in his silky voice, despite the stab wound in his neck, "until the next time...Doctor!"_

 _With that, he exploded into orange light. And with that, the teleporter began to heat up. They were leaving! They were getting out!  
_

 _Then, the orange light went out. Jamie looked at Tomasz. Except it wasn't Tomasz. Standing in his place, wearing his bloody clothes, was a pretty woman. She was young. Her long, scraggy hair was so blonde that it was almost white. Her skin was pale. She stared at her hands in astonishment._

 _"What the blazes?" Jamie screamed. But then the teleporter finally activated, taking the friends away from the Panoptican. In Zoe's case, forever. In the Doctor and Jamie's however..._

* * *

 ** _Mayfair 2020_**

* * *

"And he told me..." Jamie said, "that old man...he told me to tell you, Doctor - you have to do it again...the Da'agon Hhai."

"It never ended," the Doctor said through Tricky, "it's been going on since the day you broke it...that's why I kept bumping into them. We're connected. Me and the Other...connected in ways deeper than either of us can comprehend...one of us _has_ to lose. It's got to be fought, right to the bitter end. That's why Tomasz was never able to kill me. That's why the legends connect us...it all fits! The battle never ended. It was never fairly won."

"D'you think she's in there?" Martha asked, nodding towards the door. "Thomasina Wrench? The Other?"

"Oh yeah, for sure." The Doctor spoke the words herself. "Waiting..."

The gang looked at one another.

"Well then..." The Doctor continued finally. "Here goes nothing..."

Without another word, she pushed the doors open and walked through. And, terrified, her friends followed.

Into the abattoir. Into the chamber of death...


	33. Into the Chamber of Death

_There were two Time Lords, to begin with. Omega, who only built. Rassilon who only grew. So named due to their roles in the founding of Gallifreyan society. Omega harnessed the power time travel. He laid the foundations. And Rassilon took those foundations, developing the most advanced civilization the universe has ever known._

 _There was, however, the third Time Lord - the Other, who only ruins. He emerged from the shadows and sought to destroy everything the two Time Lords set out to achieve. They defeated him, and he was imprisoned forever inside his Confession Dial. And so it should have been forever._

* * *

The group walked into the abattoir.

Jamie shuddered. It was the same! Exactly the same! Metal operating tables, that hideous tank, all the machines...it was identical! Yet thankfully, there was no dead body being butchered. Not this time.

And standing there, in the middle of it all, was the blonde woman he'd glimpsed. Thomasina Wrench. She wore a hideous, frilly red dress, with big buttons down the front. Her legs were bare, and she wore red high heels, frilly white socks poking out from the top.

She squealed with delight as they came through the door. "Weeelcome!" She beamed, clapping and jumping up and down,. "Welcome! I was starting to think you were gonna turn back!"

"We nearly did." Jamie muttered.

"Shut it, boy!" Thomasina exploded, her face shifting from pretend delight to anger in the blink of an eye, "you little cheater! You murderer! Oh yes...don't think I'll forgive that...you killed him! You killed Tomasz!"

"You _are_ Tomasz," Tricky retorted, "don't confuse 'em, they're stupid."

"Thanks," Martha muttered.

The Other laughed. "Fair dinkums! Yep! It's me! How nice to see you all again! Martha. Saved you from Henry Host. Ian...you came to my palace! Jack...our paths crossed only so briefly. Jo Jo, you were here! Aaaaaaand...Amy! You wouldn't dance with me! Oh yes - there's your useless husband! The man who dies, dies and dies some more! And, of course, the hangers on! And Clara too! Goodness! You look nothing like your mother!"

Thomasina stopped ranting and took a deep breath. She was drooling. Clara stared at her with more hatred than she'd ever felt for anything in her life.

The Doctor took a step forward.

"Other." She said softly.

"Doctor." Thomasina said, her smile impossibly wide. "Ohhhh...but what's _that_? That little voice of your's? Thass nawt wight, wabbit!"

Tricky relayed the Other's words to the Doctor telepathically. The Doctor pointed to her ear, and Thomasina nodded. "Awww! Och, aye, she cannae hearrr meh!" Thomasina put on an exaggerated Scots accent, winking at Jamie as she did so.

The Doctor stood stock still, facing Thomasina. Out of the corner of her eye, quite suddenly, she noticed four lumbering shapes emerging from the shadows.

"Here!" she screamed, pulling the ice gun from her pocket and throwing it to Jack. Jack shot all four of the soldiers, freezing them into blocks of solid ice. This wasn't the cartoon world - exposure to such freezing temperatures, particularly for creatures born in desert conditions, killed them all instantly.

Thomasina chuckled, and raised a hand to her mouth. "Worth a try! Goodness, how I get through staff!"

Suddenly, she stopped playing the clown. She marched forwards, facing the Doctor from about ten feet away.

"I think it's time...Da'agon Hhai?" She hissed.

"Da'agon Hhai." The Doctor said in return. She turned around. "Clara."

Clara knew what she had to do. She nodded and, taking the ice gun from Jack, stood just behind the Doctor, off to the side. The Doctor's champion.

Thomasina Wrench nodded. "And as for me..."

Another soldier emerged, from behind the big tank. He looked almost Chinese. He had an enormous growth on his nose. The soldier. That soldier. The one that took Ellie Oswald to her death. The one that took all the victims to their deaths. He was carrying what looked like a wooden hunting rifle.

The Doctor nodded, and signed something. Tricky, standing well back with the other companions, spoke. "She said, I think we both know one another's conditions."

Thomasina giggled. "Oh yeah..."

The large chamber fell silent, punctuated only by the soft groans of the machinery.

"Da'agon Hhai?" The Doctor mumbled. She courtesyed reluctantly.

"Da'agon Hhai," Thomasina nodded, courtsying with a flourish of her arms. "Commence."

Clara, standing next to the Doctor, felt a surge of power erupt from the two Gallifreyans. For a moment, it only burned her skin lightly. Then she was snared! Her head exploded into pain as she heard the screams of the two women inside her mind. The battle, on hold for so long, had started again...

On one level, Clara knew where she was. Next to the Doctor, inside the Panoptican. Behind her, her little ragtag team of companions. In front, the Other and her champion. But on another level, she was somewhere totally different. Lost in a terrifying bridge between the real world and another...a fiction, in the minds of two of the most amazing Time Lords that ever lived (amazing, of course, for vastly different reasons). And Clara was being pulled into it! She could feel it, all around her! The sheer willpower of Thomasina Wrench, trying to suck her from her body and into whichever level of reality the battle was taking place in...

She had to resist! She had to! She couldn't let it happen! She'd never get out! She wouldn't be able to end it...she felt her hand close around the ice gun, reassuring herself! She was here! She was physical! She could, when the moment presented, shoot it!

 _How about now?_

She tried to lift her arm. It was heavy, and the effort distracted her - she felt a tremendous lunge as Thomasina tried again to pull her into the fight. "No!" She screamed, lifting the ice gun.

"No!" Tricky screamed from behind, spotting what Clara was trying to do, "you mustn't! You'll invalidate the duel!"

"But I can kill her!" Clara screamed.

"Not yet!" Tricky exclaimed, "Invalidate the duel twice, you'll kill both of them! Can't you feel the power? Can't you see what would happen? They're connected now! Disrupt the battle for the second time, and that's it! They're both dead!"

Clara whimpered. The Doctor and the Other were staring at each other in fury, their faces red with concentration...their eyes were far away...

Then Clara noticed the Other's soldier. It was aiming the hunting rifle. Not at the Doctor, nor Clara herself. It was aiming at Tricky.

"No!" Clara screamed, raising the ice gun and firing - the burst of white, nitrogen energy shot past Thomasina and struck the soldier at full blast. He died instantly, his body overwhelmed by the cold. But not before he fired.

With an enormous bang and a whiff of gunpowder, the gun went off. Tricky groaned softly, a bewildered look coming over her. There was a hole in her chest. An enormous hole, seeping pools of blood. She stared up at the soldier (now encased in a block of ice). Her mouth fell open, blood rushing from it. Jack grabbed her just as she collapsed.

"That's cheating!" Clara screamed.

Then came the voice. The old man's voice. _No. That was getting even. The Doctor's champion broke the duel last time. The Other's has done it this time. What goes around comes around, Clara. Surely the Doctor taught you that?_

Clara ignored him and stared at the ice gun. "No..." she moaned. It was almost out of charge. There wasn't enough for a fatal shot...

"No!" Clara screamed, shaking the half-powered gun in cold fury, tears pouring from her eyes, "no, no, no, no!"

That had been the plan, of course - make her waste the gun's power on the soldiers...and she'd fallen for it!

"No!" She moaned again, charging at Thomasina, the gun raised. She was going to beat her to death if need be.

"Clara, don't!" Lady Me screamed, watching her. But it was too late. Clara suddenly found herself between the Doctor and the Other...

And the power increased a hundredfold. Clara screamed as her mind was sucked clean out of her body. Thomasina cackled, and kicked Clara's lifeless body across the room. It flew across the floor and crashed into the machinery with a thump...

"Clara!" the Doctor screamed loudly...but then the real world slipped away again...

* * *

 _Clara bolted up - she was lying on the ground in (unbelievably) a huge field. A huge snowy field. But she wasn't cold. She was quite warm. The snow scrunched as she took a few steps forwards, trying to get her bearings. It was endless. The field, that is. Utterly endless. It stretched to the horizon, whichever way she turned. The sky, like the ground, was white. It was hard to even spot the horizon..._

 _But then she saw them. Two vast armies, one to her left, one to her right. She couldn't make out the soldiers (dressed in medieval style silver armour) but she could see who was leading both charges. The Doctor to her left. Thomasina Wrench to her right._

 _They were charging at each other. And she was trapped in the middle! A human mind, trapped between two Time Lord minds...she'd be pulverized!_

 _"Clara!" The Doctor screamed, "get away!"_

 _"Too late!" Thomasina cried from the other side, cackling "toooo late! Ha!"_

 _Clara shut her eyes, and waited for the end. Her only hope was that she wouldn't feel the pain of being ripped apart in this crazy, make believe world...she collapsed to her knees, and placed her hands over her face._

 _"Come on, Clara!" A hard, Scottish voice just next to her said sternly, "look sharp!"_

 _She opened her eyes. A tall, grey haired man in a sharp suit stood above her. His nose was hooked, his eyes round and blue._

 _"It's you!" Clara gasped, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms around the Twelfth Doctor._

 _"Yeah, yeah, okay," the Doctor said, gingerly allowing himself to be hugged, "maybe let's get out of here first."_

 _"Good point." Clara said, letting him go at once. "Uh...how?"_

 _"Like this," the Doctor said, stamping his foot. Suddenly, the battleground was gone. They were still in that same huge field, but now it was summer. The grass was green and dewy, the sky blue. Clara was pleasantly cool, despite the obvious heat._

 _"How?" She demanded, hugging the Doctor again, "how are you here?"_

 _"What? You think I'd leave you there?" the Doctor said, "The Doctor sent me to look after you...anything's possible in this world. So I sent this one for you...number twelve!"_

 _"And not only number twelve," said an even deeper voice behind Clara. She wheeled round. There was a huge tall man standing there, in a brown coat. His hair was magnificently curly. He wore a multi-coloured scarf that was ridiculously long._

 _"Good evening." He said smoothly, smiling a huge great toothy smile. "I'm the Doctor. The definitive article, so some people say."_

 _"Who says that?" The Twelfth Doctor barked sharply._

 _"Why, just people." The Fourth Doctor replied. His voice was beautiful - deep, rich and very well spoken. "Anyway...I understand we've a job to do."_

 _Clara shut her eyes, rubbed them, and opened them again. Everything was still there. The two Doctors, the empty field, the blue sky._

 _"What's_ happening _?" She said wearily._

 _"Isn't it obvious?" Twelve barked. "You were pulled in, Clara. Into the world of the Da'agon Hhai...not a place for humans. But yet here you are! Alive! Which means..."_

 _"Yes?" Clara said._

 _"Which means there's a chance." The Fourth Doctor finished. "Just a chance. Come, Clara...it's time you met him. Face to face."_

 _"The old man?" Clara said._

 _The two Doctors chuckled. "Yeah," Twelve said, "but don't call him that to his face."_

* * *

 **Note: This story will have forty chapters. So getting near to the end. :)**


	34. Into the Palace of Omega

_The Doctor never believed in the Other, to begin with. Sensible Time Lords didn't. And yet, in time, she was forced to accept the Other's existence. But there's one thing she can not, and will not accept - that the Other was the cause of all Gallifrey's hardships. All of them? Come on! But honestly, that's what some of the legends would have you believe._

 _And just recently, the Doctor's been thinking about that - whomever first wrote that story into Time Lord mythology...did they do it, having seen firsthand the destruction the Other left wherever he or she walked? What's that old saying? No smoke without fire...a man so evil that he inspired the Time Lords of old to write him a part in Gallifreyan mythology...the ultimate boogeyman._

 _But here's the rub - the Other has travelled in time. Possibly more than any other Time Lord in existence (aside from the Doctor of course). So, the question is this - do the legends write of a monster because the real thing was evil? Or is the real thing evil_ because _the legends write of a monster? Does the Other kill because she's an evil monster? Or does the Other kill because that's what evil monsters do?_

 _Maybe the Other read the legends of herself at a young age, and since then simply lived up to expectations? Who can say?_

* * *

It wasn't going well.

Thomasina was obviously the stronger at present. She was still standing up, whereas the Doctor had dropped to her knees. Clara lay motionless on the other side of the room, by the machines. Somehow, everyone knew not to move her. Amazingly, they noticed, she still had hold of the ice gun. But it was out of charge! Not enough for a fatal shot!

In Jack's arms, Tricky lay pale and still. She looked dead - a gunshot wound like that, from close range, is utterly devastating. Blood was still flowing freely from the wounds - yeah, wounds plural. The bullet went right through her and out the other side.

Rory and Martha, nurse and doctor to the end, dropped to their knees to help Tricky, but Jack told them firmly to let her be. Because she wasn't _entirely_ dead, of course. One heart stopped, the other still ticking over silently. Tricky didn't need any help, and Jack knew it. Her skin was warm to the touch, as though some sort of energy was building up inside of her. It was starting...

* * *

 _But that was only one level of reality. Through vast swathes of time, oceans of matter and multiple levels of reality, Clara Oswald was walking through an old, derelict castle. Walking either side of her, two Doctors. The Twelfth, there to help because he was Clara's Doctor. And the Fourth, there simply for the fun of it. The Thirtieth Doctor had an odd sense of humour - that's been mentioned a few times. Having Four meet Clara was vaguely amusing for her._

 _In that same dimension (though on a different level) two mighty armies fought. Leading them, two women. One with orange hair, black clothes and jester shoes. The other, fair haired, livid with makeup and wearing red frills...it's funny - looking at them, you might be forgiven for thinking that the Doctor was the evil one. She wore black. She glared with cold fury, whilst Thomasina squealed with unhinged laughter. To an outsider, the identity of the monster might not be immediately obvious._

 _And what bizarre armies! The Doctor's was a vast array of creatures she'd met over the course of her travels. Take a glance, they look like people wrapped in silver armour. But look closer, and you'd see Judoon, Ice Warriors, Sontarans and Autons to name a few. Thomasina's were different - because every single soldier in her army was humanoid. There was the Master - any and every version of the Doctor's old friend (actually long dead by the time the Thirtieth Doctor lived). But dotted around and about, there were two other faces. John Taylor and Bart Platter. Tormenting her even after death._

 _They weren't real. It was a representation only - a realistic, dangerous and terrifying representation of the Doctor and the Other's mental battle. Actually, the battlefield was the old man's idea. He set it up to protect Clara, and indeed Jamie all those years ago - the human mind would fall apart if it was forced to witness the true nature of that fight. It was beyond the comprehension of the human brain. Like installing a whopping great download of a game onto a 1993 computer. It would simply seize up and crash._

 _Ah, yes...the old man._

 _Clara and the Doctors approached the heavy oak door, situated at the far end of a dusty and forgotten stone hallway._

 _"Do we just go in?" Clara asked._

 _"Yes..." the Fourth Doctor said faintly, moving to push the door open. The Twelfth Doctor knocked his hand away._

 _"Or no, alternatively," he grunted. Goodness - he'd had such little respect when he was young! But then, to be fair, Twelve very rarely gave anyone much respect either...only when it was truly deserved._

 _And here, it most certainly was. Twelve rapped on the door sharply with his thin hand - his large ring gleamed on his finger._

 _Inside, a deep voice said, "come through."_

 _Twelve pushed the door open. The three of them walked into a large chamber. It was old and dusty, like the rest of the castle. But it was obviously lived in - there was a makeshift kitchen and a science lab, tubes of multi-coloured chemicals glittering. There was a bookshelf, and a cauldron over a fire. And in the sofa, wrapped in rich red Gallifreyan robes, was the old man. The creator of Time Lord society._

 _The creator, not the developer._

 _The three of them stood before him and bowed._

 _"Omega," Twelve said gracefully. He knew he was safe - Omega wasn't evil any longer. Not truly._

 _The old man nodded, a half-smile forming on his bearded lips. "At ease. Come, come! Sit a while!"_

 _He pointed at the floor opposite his sofa, and three armchairs appeared. "Sit there," he said._

 _The three of them didn't need to be asked twice. The seats were rough, made of some ancient, rotting fabric. But Clara's was surprisingly comfortable when she sat._

 _Omega smiled at her as she leaned back against the backrest. "Clara Oswald," he said solemnly, "we meet at last - face to face."_

 _Clara nodded. "Y...yep," she stammered, "so that's your name, is it? Omega?"_

 _The old man shrugged, "or what's left of Omega. I exist only as willpower now. I will not help. I cannot help. I have no form in your reality."_

 _"Well, sir," the Twelfth Doctor said, "we need help. In no particular order, I need to win the Da'agon Hhai. Clara needs to get back to her body. We need to get out of the Panoptican. Any more suggestions? Seems you've been helping young Clara out plenty, to be honest."_

 _Omega laughed. "Maybe so. And you!" He turned to the Fourth Doctor. "Number Four! You've had the pleasure of my hospitality for several moments now, and still you haven't offered me a jelly baby!"_

 _"Oh," the Fourth Doctor said, laughing and pulling out a crumpled white bag, "oh, how terribly rude of me - jelly baby, sir?"_

 _Omega took one, and popped it into his mouth. Clara and Twelve took one also. Clara bit into hers. Pink. She liked the pink ones best...she remembered when she was a tot. Her mother would separate the pink ones into a little dish for her, every Friday night as a treat._

 _And look at her now...look at what that little girl had become._

 _"Everything you describe," Omega said to Twelve, "can be achieved. I can't promise it. Oh no. But Clara...I think if you focus hard, you might feel yourself...somewhere else? Lying down perhaps? On a cold, metal floor? Can't you feel it?"_

 _Clara closed her eyes. She tried to ignore the warm seat. She ignored her seated posture...and there, ever so faint, was the tinge of cold metal against her cheek. And in her right hand...her empty right hand...there was something else metal..._

 _"The ice gun!" Clara gasped, "I've still got it!"_

 _"Oh yes," Omega smiled, "and what's more - you know of it's abilities. Of it's power. How it works."_

 _Clara hung her head. "I know it's nearly out of charge."_

 _Omega smiled still. "You also know what the Other does not. You were told something. Something very important. If you can remember it, you can win. I promise."_

 _Clara looked at the old man's eyes. She felt them boring into her very soul, if such a thing existed. "No chance you'll just tell me?"_

 _Omega shook his head. "I won't help. I will advise from afar. Nothing more." As he spoke, the whole castle shook violently, a crumbling sound coming from the ceiling above the room. Clara looked up nervously._

 _Omega looked up with interest. "It's the Da'agon Hhai. This world is disintegrating. But the Other is winning."_

 _"Don't I know it!" Four said. "I can feel myself losing! What do we do?"_

 _Omega pointed across the room, and a portal burst open. It was a clear, rippling hole in mid air._

 _"The past." He said proudly. "Go forth, and know the Other. See her true nature, see her origin. You must. And when you do, my friends, I hope you'll find it in your hearts to forgive me. You especially, Clara."_

 _Then he was gone. So, alarmingly, was the room, and the seats in which they'd been sitting. All of it gone. The whole castle. All that remained was an endless black void, darkness stretching out endlessly in every direction. All that remained was the portal._

 _Twelve clapped his hands together. "I don't think we've got much choice, Clara. You both ready?"_

 _"I certainly am," the Fourth Doctor said airily, "shall we proceed? Know your enemy, as somebody very clever once said...or was it me?"_

 _The other two shrugged. "Like you say," Clara said to the Twelfth Doctor, "no choice."_

 _So, holding hands, the three of them stepped into the portal...into the past. The distant, long forgotten past..._

 _/_

Captain Jack was transfixed by the fight - they all were. The Doctor had been really struggling earlier, but there had definetley been a change. The Doctor had forced herself back to her feet, and Jack was sure that Thomasina's legs were shaking a little. Their faces gave nothing away - both of them were screwed up in agonizing concentration as they fought to overcome one another's willpower.

So transfixed was Jack, it took him several seconds to register that his hands were burning hot.

"Ach!" He cried suddenly, pulling away from Tricky's lifeless body. Her pretty face was chalk-white, her eyes shut...but from that face, from the bare arms too, golden energy was glowing softly.

"Get away from her!" Jack cried, leaping to his feet and moving the companions back.

"But what's happening to her?" Ian gasped.

Jack grinned nervously, "she's dying. What do we know happens next?"

"You mean..." Jo gasped, moving further back from Tricky.

"The moment has been prepared for." Amy said, grinning.

They shielded their eyes in the nick of time. Tricky exploded in a flash of bright light. They could feel the heat burning their skin lightly. Tricky was no longer visible - she was a bright light on the floor, a bright light in dungarees. Her features were totally hidden by the flare of that light. The flare of regeneration energy. Her first regeneration ever. She'd always hoped she'd be unconscious for it. Seeing the Doctor change had scared her so much...

Suddenly, the heat and the light cut out.

Martha was the first to open her eyes. She battle was still raging - and Thomasina's bare legs were _definetley_ shaking, no doubt about it. And on the floor, wearing Tricky's bloodied dungarees, and Tricky's big hoop earrings and trainers, there lay someone else.

A short and skinny young man with light brown hair. The second form of Trickxalatlaylunar, best known simply as Tricky. He was lying on the floor, his eyes tightly shut, and his fists clenched.

Meanwhile, back in that other, bizarre reality, the Doctor and Clara fought on, aided and assisted by the disembodied mind of Omega himself.

And Clara knew what the Other did not...she just didn't know it yet.


	35. Into the Memories of He Who Time Forgot

_And this is what Clara saw..._

 _Omega..._ made _her!_

 _Yes - he fashioned the Other after himself. Not a natural born Time Lord. A Time Lord grown, raised and taught by Omega himself...an heir. An heir to the throne of Gallifrey._

 _Omega, who only built, Omega, who only created - he knew he couldn't leave Gallifrey exclusively to Rassilon. Rassilon could only grow. Rassilon could not create. He could only develop. So he needed an heir, for that dark day when his own death was upon him..._

 _And he promised the Other that when he was a man..._ truly _a man, he'd be ready to take his place, as king of time itself._

 _But then Omega went on...and on...and on some more. He went on for so long, that even when the Other became one, Omega denied him. A harsh and cold teacher to his heir, and certainly not a parent. The Other had to wait. But impatience grew to anger. And anger to hate..._

 _The last will and testament of Omega, who only created - he had created a monster._

* * *

Tricky didn't move.

Rory and Martha bent down next to him. "Why isn't she waking up?" Martha demanded of Jack. "I thought the regeneration cured them!"

"Yeah, it does!" Jack insisted. "Be patient."

"She...he...cor blimey! _He_ looks dead!" Ian said hysterically. "Check for a pulse?"

Rory did just that. For a nail biting moment, the room was silent - the Doctor and the Other's battle was ongoing, but neither of them uttered a word. They were suffering in silence, the agony of each other's willpower clamping their mouths and their eyes shut, as they continued to fight in some far off realm of their own. Clara lay as still as ever against the machinery...Ian wondered if the Doctor knew Tricky had been hurt? If not, she was in for a shock...assuming she won.

"It's there," Rory said, sighing with relief. "Weak, but that's a pulse."

"Well leave her then, darlings!" Jo said. "Maybe she just needs to come round of her own accord!"

At that precise moment, the Other fell to her knees. "Come on," Jamie urged the Doctor under his breath, "come on. You can do it, Doctor! Keep going!"

Trouble was, the Doctor wasn't looking too great either. She was standing up again, but she was swaying visibly...

Ian wasn't a gambling man. He didn't like gambling. But Jack was. He gambled a lot. But he wouldn't have put any sort of bet on this one...it was too close to call.

* * *

 _Omega came to realize that his heir was going insane._

 _And he was furious._

 _His finest work! Life! He'd created life! But that life was turning against him with every passing day! So he summoned him to his palace. He trapped the Other in his Confession Dial, there to remain, asleep but alive for all eternity. The Other begged for mercy. But Omega couldn't give it. Omega, the most powerful man in existence, the father of Gallifrey, the controller of time itself, had failed the final test - to control himself._

 _That rage, that hatred...he sealed it in the Confession Dial right alongside the Other. It slept in there with him. And it woke up with him..._

 _Hatred... Omega's hatred, directed against another Time Lord...that was all the Other was left with, when he finally awoke, on that planet of ice...where he came face to face with another Time Lord._

 _Hatred of another Time Lord...that thought, that emotion, was tied forever to the Other. Irreversibly._

 _Oh, Omega knows this. He knows what he did. And he regrets it. But he won't help to right his wrong. Not directly. He needed someone like Clara._

 _But what of Gallifrey? Because finally, Omega died...to some extent. And he left no heir. The one thing that couldn't happen_ did _happen. Rassilon took full charge. From Omega's work, he built a wonderful society. But it got to a certain point, and it couldn't advance. There was no heir of Omega to build any future foundations..._

 _And Time Lord society became what it did. Wonderful, but imperfect. It could have been perfect. It should have been perfect. But the heir of Omega wasn't there to make that possible._

 _The legends of the old times thus blame the Other for this imperfection. The Other, who only ruins._

 _Who_ really _ruined Time Lord society? The Other? Or Omega?_

* * *

Tricky exhaled a cloud of swirling, orange vapour. But still, he didn't wake up. His eyes were tightly shut, his jaw firmly locked. Jack shook him gently by one shoulder.

"Oi," he said, "can you hear me?"

Tricky didn't move.

"He'll be fine," Jack said, trying to sound optimistic. How should he know? He'd never actually seen a full regeneration before!

Lady Me hadn't either. But she knew a lot about them from Clara. "Just leave him," she told Martha, who'd bent back down to re-examine the new Tricky, "he's breathing. We can't do anything for him."

Martha prised open one of Tricky's eyes. They were brown. But even with his right eye open, he didn't stir. Martha's face floated in his line of sight, but he was unable to respond. He was totally comatose.

* * *

 _Finally, the truth about the Other._

 _Clara and the Doctors stumbled from the portal, finding themselves back in Omega's chamber. But he was gone._

 _"You won't see him again," the Twelfth Doctor said bitterly, "can't bear to face us now that we know. Coward."_

 _Clara ignored him, and sat back down in the musty old armchair. She didn't feel sorry for the Other. But finally, finally, there was some sort of explanation. A reason for what happened to her mother, all those years ago...and, surprisingly, that helped a tiny bit. To know why exactly Tomasz Wrench and Thomasina Wrench acted as they did. The Other, promised the stars, but then betrayed by the very man whom he'd relied on...trapped for centuries in a swirling cloud of anger. Bitter, twisted and vengeful, determined to inflict that same pain on whomever got in his or her way. He awoke, determined to make himself supreme, as he should have been, by any means necessary. Understandable, maybe. But unforgivable. And Clara would never forgive her._

 _She looked up sharply at the Fourth Doctor, who was leaning against a rough stone wall, eating jelly babies._

 _"You..." she said softly._

 _He looked up, staring at her with enormous blue eyes. He chewed his jelly baby and swallowed loudly, "me?"_

 _"Why are you here?"_

 _The Fourth Doctor shrugged. "I was invited. The real Doctor put me here. We're just memories, me and him." He nodded at the Twelfth Doctor._

 _"Yeah, but why_ you _?" Clara urged. "You specifically? Why?"_

 _The Fourth Doctor grinned widely. His face, Clara thought, was rather alarming when he did that. "Because I'm magnificent. The definitive Doctor."_

 _"Not this again..." Twelve muttered._

 _The Fourth Doctor beamed wider still. "Very well... it's simple. She - that is to say, I - thought it would be funny to have a random guest along to help. Just a jolly joke."_

 _"No!" Twelve said suddenly. "No! Shut up! Just shut up! Both of you, shut up. Clara!"_

 _"What?" Clara said eagerly._

 _"Shut up. Oh, I'm stupid! You'd think I'd know me better than that! Nothings ever just for fun where I'm involved!"_

 _His mouth was open wide. Slowly, he rounded on the Fourth Doctor, who continued to watch with benign interest._

 _"Omega wanted a jelly baby! Omega doesn't need jelly babies! He's not even got a real body! Why would he want a jelly baby? How would he even know what jelly babies are?"_

 _The Fourth Doctor shrugged. "I don't follow." He said bluntly._

 _"Nor me." Clara said._

 _The Twelfth Doctor stared at Four and Clara with fascination, his mouth still open wide. "No!" He said again, "no...oh,_ wow _that man's clever! He was trying to show us too! He was helping the future me to show you!"_

 _"Show us what?"_

 _"The reason that she sent for the Fourth Doctor! Four, may I take a look at the jelly babies?"_

 _The Fourth Doctor popped another one into his mouth. Yellow. "What do my jelly babies have to do with it?"_

 _"Everything," the Twelfth Doctor said, "if I'm right. Please?"_

 _The Fourth Doctor passed the little white bag over, putting his empty hands in his pockets._

 _"I felt something, Clara." Twelve said, "something inside you, when you took the jelly baby..."_

 _"Oh?" Clara said uncertainly, "I was...well, it sounds stupid, but..."_

 _"But?" Twelve urged._

 _"My mum used to buy me jelly babies...every Friday, for a treat," Clara shrugged, trying to hide the sadness in her voice, "I used to love them. The pink ones especially..."_

 _"Eat one now!" Twelve exclaimed, "a pink one! Go on!"_

 _Clara took the bag off him and peered inside. "There aren't any pink ones left." She told him._

 _She and the Twelfth Doctor rounded on the Fourth Doctor. He merely shrugged. "They're my favourite too." He said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another crumpled white bag. "Here - one of my spares. Should be some in this." He threw it across the empty room to Clara, who caught it with both hands, letting the other bag drop to the dusty floor._

 _Clara opened it up and saw an abundance of jelly babies, several pink ones included. She took one out, and held it in her hand. "Look, what's this about?" She demanded. She felt a little angry now, and more than a little sad - they were reminding her of her mother again...pink jelly babies, and cartoons after school... little Clara and her mum would sit on the sofa, Clara wrapped in her arms, and laugh at the silly characters on the screen, waiting for Dave to get in from work._

 _Clara took a breath. This was silly! A stupid little sweet giving her these feelings? The Doctor knew it was having this effect as well. Oh yeah - she was angry at him. She'd forgotten how callous and uncaring the Twelfth Doctor could be._

 _Twelve laughed. He turned to the Fourth Doctor, who was also grinning. "Amazing," Four said, "oh, what a lovely lady I will become! How generous! How kind!"_

 _He beamed and looked over at Clara. "Eat it," he urged her, "and remember!"_

 _Clara felt a surge of excitement as she popped it into her mouth and chewed._

 _Four removed his hat (he hadn't been wearing a hat, but he had one now). He took it off and bowed smartly. "Been a pleasure. By the way - I said what a lovely lady I'll become. I wasn't just talking about myself..."_

 _He vanished, and someone else appeared. A tall, dark haired woman, a woman Clara would know anywhere..._

 _She dropped the second bag of jelly babies, and raced over to Ellie, flinging herself into her mother's arms. Ellie held her tightly._

 _"This isn't real," she said gently, "you know that, don't you? I wish it could be, but it isn't. I don't want you to get too attached. I can't come back to reality with you."_

 _"It_ feels _real!" Clara said through thick tears. The Twelfth Doctor watched, a thin smile on his lips._

 _"It does," Ellie agreed, "but Ellie...the real Ellie, that is...she's gone, Clara. You do understand that? I'm an echo...a phantom of your mind. But don't you see? Don't you understand why I'm here? It's the Doctor! The real Doctor, the current Doctor - she's been trying to tell you all along - this place is an illusion in your minds. But you aren't just a helpless passenger, Clara. You can make things happen here too!"_

 _Ellie pulled away from Clara gently. "Which means...we've got a chance. Is that not so, Doctor?"_

 _Twelve nodded. "Yes. I think so."_

 _Clara stood between the Doctor and her mother - two of the people she'd loved most in the entire universe - and nodded. "Okay. What do I do?"_

 _"We help the Doctor win," Twelve said, "we take the fight to Thomasina. You can take us there. Your the Doctor's champion! Your allowed to help."_

 _"How do we get to her?" Clara asked._

 _"Same way you brought me here." Ellie said softly. "Just think about it..."_

 _"You'll stay with me, won't you?" Clara said to her mother and Twelve._

 _Ellie nodded. "Every step of the way." She assured Clara._

 _"Of course," The Twelfth Doctor said awkwardly. He hated being sincere._

 _"All right," Clara said, nodding. "We're gonna go and find her. We'll distract her. The Doctor can win the Da'agon Hhai. Win here, win in the real world. Am I right?"_

 _"Yeah," Twelve said, "as long as you remember - you_ have _to remember about the ice gun, Clara. That's vital. You know something about it that the Other does not. Remember it!"_

 _The old room in the castle was fading now. They were going somewhere else. Behind enemy lines, so to speak..._

 _Straight to Thomasina Wrench._


	36. Into the Dragon's Lair

_The harvest was the best way to stay alive - this, the Other came to realize fairly quickly. He couldn't regenerate. Omega sucked all that out of him when he sealed him away. Just as insurance, if ever he somehow escaped...he'd wither and die in time, the power of regeneration stolen from him._

 _But he found it again. He got the better of that old fool, didn't he? He saved himself! He did more than that - he enhanced himself! Gave himself unimaginable strength, an endless lifespan (barring accidents) and the power of time travel. He won! He lived! While Omega died._

 _It took him years to prepare. He selected Earth as his farm. Earth, full of silly little people who'd walk right into the slaughterhouse. Finally, in the year 2005 of that sorry little planet, the harvest began. Ellie Oswald, chef, jobseeker, mother, and wife...what a wonderful first meal she made! And once she was of no further use, her remains were stitched back together and dumped in some random corner of London._

 _The Other's monsters were never caught disposing of the bodies. Some, they would dump in some dark alleyway in the city, careful never to be spotted. But that was only the people who'd be missed. Many of their guests - homeless, dispossessed and addicted - would never be looked for. There was a place underground for them - a forgotten labrytinth of tunnels underneath London, directly beneath the Panoptican itself._

 _It all came to an end in 2010, of course. Way before it's time. It took her ten whole years to repair the Panoptican following his turbulent regeneration, by which time she (the new Other) grew weaker, her stocks of regeneration energy spent on the change..._

 _Until now. She's absorbed so much regeneration energy, she's stronger than ever before. So much stronger!_

 _So she tries to tell herself..._

* * *

Clara still lay motionless on the floor, lifeless and pale like Tricky. The Doctor and the Other were both on their knees now. But there was no doubt about it in anyone's mind now - the Doctor looked to be the stronger of the two. Thomasina was shaking violently now, whimpering. The Doctor looked little better, but there was a strange sort of calm washing over her. She was enduring. She was suffering, but she was enduring it. The Other was not.

But then what? Clara was the Doctor's champion. She was the only one who could make the kill! But one, she was knocked out cold. And two, the ice gun didn't have enough power to turn Thomasina into a block of ice like her own champion...but equally, Thomasina's champion was dead. So she couldn't kill the Doctor, right? Maybe... but what if neither of them could kill one another? Would they be forced to fight on and on, until one or both of their brains imploded? Mickey had a particularly gory image in his head of their skulls collapsing in on themselves, blood and soupy brain matter pouring from their ears, mouths and noses...could they really not interfere?

He asked this to Lady Me, who shook her head. "I don't think so. We'll kill 'em both...only Clara can do it."

But Clara _couldn't_ do it, for the reasons given some moments ago.

* * *

 _With a flash of blue light and an electronic zap, Clara appeared ten feet in the air. She was back on the snowy battlefield, the war still raging on. And - just as she'd wanted - Thomasina Wrench was just below her, a splodge of crimson against the white of the snow, like a droplet of blood on a marble floor._

 _Clara yelled with cold fury and dropped to the ground. She hooked her arms around Thomasina's neck and yanked her down with her. Thomasina let out a shrill scream as she fell. The two women landed in an untidy sprawl on top of each other, Thomasina's high-heeled shoe digging uncomfortably into Clara's leg. The soldiers - among them, Clara noticed with a shock, several Missys - charged at her at once. But the moment was prepared for._

 _Thomasina was spreading herself too thin, controlling all of these troops. None of them were very strong. And, as Clara noticed with a thrill of hope, they were looking weaker than before, while the Doctor's looked just as strong._

 _Clara channeled all her willpower into the facsimiles of Twelve and her mother, who swept the endless crowds aside as if they were nothing but clouds of vapour. Each one they struck burst into a cloud of snow, and drifted to the ground. Clara tightened her grip around Thomasina's neck and slammed her back and forth into the snowy ground._

 _"Does that hurt?" She screamed, seizing a fistful of snow and rubbing it vigorously into the Other's eyes, trying to lacerate them. Thomasina was too bewildered and weak to fight back for the moment. She lay on the floor, her eyes red and sore, pink fingermarks around her pale neck. Clara took her hand away from the face that was livid with makeup, wiping the white powder off on Thomasina's red dress. She grabbed Thomasina's dress and lifted her partly off the floor. She kicked her in the face, once, twice, three times. "Does it hurt yet?" She screamed, slapping her and tossing her back to the ground. "You die in here, you die out there! How about that?"_

 _Clara knew in her heart that it didn't work like that. But she was enjoying this. It had been a long time coming. All the pent up rage and grief was coming out at once, and for the moment, Clara Oswald was totally unable to control herself._

 _The Other whimpered and spat blood, trying to scrabble to her feet. She got up unsteadily, pushing Clara away as she came in for a second attack. She straightened up. She was holding a sword! She hadn't been a moment ago. She'd imagined it. So Clara imagined a shield. A large, silver square of metal appeared in her hand. She held it up just as Thomasina's sword came slicing through the air. Clara felt shockwaves judder through her arms as the metal hit the metal. She didn't hesitate. She charge forward with the shield, crashing into Thomasina and throwing her again to the floor._

 _Clara turned her shield to a rounders bat, and brought it down on the Other's ribs. She groaned._

 _Then Clara was on top of her again, hitting her first with the bat and then with her bare hands, striking her in the face again and again, until Thomasina Wrench lay still, bloodied and bruised._

 _Clara nodded with satisfaction, and got to her feet. The fighting had stopped. Thomasina's army was gone, and so was the Doctor's..._

 _"The Doctor!" Clara exclaimed. "Where's the Doctor?"_

 _"Here," Twelve said. "I'm so impressed with you, Clara."_

 _"Thanks, but I meant..." Clara stared at Twelve. Suddenly, he wasn't Twelve. The Thirtieth Doctor stood in his place._

 _"Good afternoon_ _," she beamed. Clara gasped. The Thirtieth Doctor's voice was lucid and soft, like a hearing person's voice._

 _"Can you hear?" Clara asked._

 _"If you want me to," Thirty laughed, "anything goes here."_

 _Ellie took Clara in her arms again, "I'm so proud of you," she whispered into Clara's ear, "I'm not Ellie Oswald, but I think like her...and she would have been_ so proud _of you Clara."_

 _Clara rounded on Thomasina Wrench. "Have you won then?" She asked the Doctor._

 _The Doctor shook her head. "Not until you come back to reality. You need to get her. Kill her, or capture her...she's immobile now, and only you can do it."_

 _"But the ice gun!" Clara protested, "it doesn't work! I"_

 _But then Clara stopped..._

* * *

For a moment there...just one moment...it looked like the Doctor had won! Thomasina slumped on the floor, paraylsed like the Doctor said the loser would be. The Doctor got to her feet again and stood over her. Just for a second, Thomasina didn't move. She only stared up at the Doctor in cold fear. But then the Doctor grimaced. Thomasina twitched a little, and then got up again!  
"Argh!" Jamie moaned. He had been on the verge of cheering.

Nobody noticed Clara's right hand twitch slightly, tightening it's grip on the ice gun...

* * *

 _Thomasina rose to her feet. "Did you think it would be that easy?" She screamed, her face bruised and broken, "Don't you know who I am? I, the Other, the heir to Gallifrey! I let you win, girl! Pathetic girl! Pathetic, useless girl! I needed the rest, and I let you do it!"_

 _Clara charged at her again, but the Doctor held her back. And Clara's heart began hammering in her chest she saw the Doctor's face. The Doctor looked scared._

 _"I'll fight you to the end." The Doctor said, trying to sound brave. "Be sure of it."_

 _Thomasina laughed hysterically. "And fight you must! But this ends now! I'll win the Da'agon Hhai! Oh, I know my champions dead. I'll win, and I'll cut your throats! But this ends now! I'll fight you myself, not with an army! You will face my final form in this world, and...oh how you'll burn! How you'll scream!"_

 _Then she vanished. The field was empty._

 _"What's happening?" Clara asked, her mouth dry._

 _"She was holding back," the Doctor said, shaking with fear. She grabbed Clara tightly with both hands. "Clara, I know what this is...she's using all her energy, betting that whatever's coming will finish us quickly. We have to try and hold out! Wait for her to tire herself out. And you have to wake up! Use the ice gun!"_

 _"It's out of power!" Clara screamed yet again, her eyes darting left and right, looking for any sign of danger. Nothing yet._

 _"No!" The Doctor shouted back. "It's_ nearly _out of power. You know something about it which Thomasina doesn't! She doesn't think it's a danger! Just remember! Think!"_

 _"Oh my stars..." Ellie gasped. Clara looked at her. She was staring at something behind the Doctor. Reluctantly, her heart thundering in her chest, Clara slowly looked past the Doctor._

 _Then she screamed._

 _Something enormous was flying towards them. It had two huge, spiky wings and four legs, the feet tipped with nails like axe heads. It was a dragon. Clara guessed it must have been twenty meters long, and ten meters from head to foot. It's skin was covered in red and white scales, and there were bright red frills around it's neck and it's ankles. It's exposed underside had three large, button shaped spots, and the top of it's head and neck was covered with thick, blonde-white fur._

 _And they were completely defenceless, standing in the middle of an endless field._

 _The dragon opened it's huge, fanged mouth and made a strange gasping noise. Clara knew what was about to happen. A jet of flames shot out, straight at the three of them. They ducked, and Clara felt the intense heat above her, just a few feet away. But she was fine. Hot air rose._

 _The dragon landed with a thump and began to charge at them. It moved astonishingly fast. Clara screamed again, and the three of them rolled to the side, out of it's path..._

* * *

"Come on Doctor!" Amy screamed in panic. Thomasina was up on her feet now, and the Doctor had collapsed. Thomasina stood above her, an evil grin on her face.

Again, Clara's hand twitched very lightly.

* * *

 _"We're out of here," Clara panted, concentrating very hard...she knew where they had to go._

 _With a pop, they were back in the castle. Omega's castle. They were on top of one of the old towers._

 _"Can she get here?" Clara gasped, her skin stinging - she'd been burnt worse than she thought. She looked at the Doctor, who's face was turning pink. Only Ellie, who was a figment of Clara's imagination, was unharmed._

 _"Oh yeah..." the Doctor said, looking up. Clara craned her neck. Thomasina the dragon was there, dive bombing them. Her eyes were exactly the eyes of Thomasina, only bigger. A look of pure hatred was etched on them. She opened her mouth and made the hissing, gassy noise again._

 _This time, Clara was ready. A trapdoor appeared in the middle of the floor, which burst open at once, pushed from the inside. The Twelfth Doctor's head poked comically up from the hole. Under other circumstances, Clara would have laughed._

 _"Might be safer down here," he said, sliding back down the ladder, into a dark, round storeroom inside._

 _"Go!" The Thirtieth Doctor screamed, throwing Clara towards the trapdoor. She clambered down. Ellie didn't need to. Clara just imagined her at the bottom of the ladder, and that's where she was._

 _The dragon blew it's next jet of flames. The Thirtieth Doctor was too slow. She was mostly down the ladder, but her hands were still on the upper rungs, which caught fire. She screamed. Clara grabbed her wait and yanked her down, using her mind to slam the trapdoor shut behind them._

 _The Doctor moaned in agony, examining her blistered hands. Two rolls of white gauze bandage covering them. The Doctor had imagined them there._

 _"Can't you make yourself a dragon?" Clara demanded of her. The Twelfth Doctor chuckled._

 _Thirty shook her head. "I don't have the strength...we've gotta keep going! If we can survive long enough, she'll get weaker!"_

 _But Clara shook her head. She was in a storeroom. Which gave her a very good idea..._

* * *

"Hey look!" Lady Me exclaimed, drawing everyone's dismayed attention from the fight. "Look! It's Clara!"

Clara was moaning softly, stirring on the ground. Her eyes were still shut, but her hand gripped the ice gun tighter. Back across the room, the Doctor cried out in pain, as the make believe version of herself got her hands singed by dragon fire...

* * *

 _Clara suddenly felt something cold in her right hand. Quickly, she looked down...no. Nothing there. But there had been, she was sure of it! She'd felt the ice gun!_

 _She forgot it, and concentrated back on the task in hand. The took the Doctor's bandaged hand, ignoring her cry of pain._

 _"You've got enough strength for this," Clara told her, "you need to have - think gunpowder!"_

 _Thirty smiled. "Amazing..." She said. At that moment, as Clara had hoped, the whole tower shook. A scrabbling, scraping noise came from the circular walls. She was forcing her way in._

 _"You don't scare us, Thomasina!" Clara yelled, provoking her. "You hideous great brute! Come and have a go! Come on!"_

 _There were brown barrels all around the storeroom now. Clara and the Doctor had willed them into existence, and there they were._

 _"Another trapdoor would be handy now," she told Twelve._

 _Twelve grinned. "What, like this?" He said, an open trapdoor appearing out of nowhere beneath him. He dropped down it instantly._

 _There was an tremendous thud, as part of the wall caved in. A gigantic red and white face peered in, the eyes (Thomasina's eyes) glinting with malice. That hissing noise started again from deep within her throat._

 _"Oh boy..." Thirty said, grabbing Clara and half-throwing her down the trapdoor. She followed suit. It was a long ladder this time - they needed to get a good distance away. Before..._

 _Thomasina blew another jet of fire into the now empty storeroom. The flames licked over the new barrels of gunpowder._

 _Then the whole room exploded._

 _Clara screamed again, as the sound thundered through the castle, clapping her ears tightly. Everyone did the same. A waft of acrid smoke filled the air, and Clara's eyes stung viciously, as smoke and brick debris filled them. She heard an otherworldly shriek from above as the dragon was blasted backwards. Quickly, she created a window in the side of the turret and looked out. Thomasina the dragon was flopping uselessly to the floor, her wings tangled, her skin burnt. She crashed to the floor and writhed there in pain. She looked, for the first time, scared._

 _"Clara!" Called a far off distant voice._

* * *

"Clara!" Lady Me screamed. "Wake up!"

Clara's eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. Her hand closed firmly around the ice gun.

Meanwhile, Thomasina suddenly cried out in alarm, and staggered backwards, upright but shaky, as she was blasted by the gunpowder in the dream. The Doctor staggered up again, taking advantage of Thomasina's lapse of concentration.

* * *

 _The dragon struggled back upright. She was panicking now. How could this be allowed to happen? The dragon was meant to kill them in ten seconds flat! That was the whole idea! And there was no backup! No plan B! It took all her focus to keep this up...if the dragon went down, so did she!_

 _How could that happen?_

 _She reared up, spotting Clara peering out of the window, lower down in the tower. The top half had been blasted clean off. The dragon unfurled it's aching, broken wings and clumsily took flight again. She couldn't fly in a straight line anymore._

 _Clara watched as the dragon took flight awkwardly. It let loose another jet of fire, searing the outside of the wrecked tower. The temperature inside rose notably._

 _Clara was just about to imagine a cannonball firing at the dragon, when her head erupted in agony. She collapsed to the floor. For a second - just a second - she saw something else...a large, metal chamber filled with machinery and operating tables...she was lying on the floor, with a crowd of people by the door looking at her...the real world! She felt the ice gun in her hand, the cold floor against her back._

 _Then she was back in the castle. The Twelfth Doctor dragged her upright. Her head had stopped burning, but she felt dizzy._

 _"You can't fight her like this anymore," the Doctor said, "it's killing you! You need to kill her! End it!"_

 _"But I..." Clara stopped. She could hear voices, coming from the real world..._

* * *

"Wake up Clara!" Jamie screamed.

"Clara! Come on!" Jo Jones yelled.

"Yeah, you can do it!" Jack Harkness said. "I know you can! Come on! Come back to us!"

"Come on!" Ian joined in.

Everyone was screaming for her.

* * *

 _And Clara remembered. Jack's voice did it. She remembered what she knew! What she knew, that the Other did not! What had Jack told her about the ice gun?_

 _She thought back to earlier - "you can even send it through solid walls," he had told her, examining the gun, "lock it onto a specific target, it can bypass certain amounts of matter."_

 _"I can do it," Clara said, her eyes widening, "I can kill her! It will work!"_

 _But then they all screamed, as the tower shook violently and heated up again. It was about to collapse! Clara quickly imagined them away, into Omega's chamber. But the effort sent a fresh jolt of pain through her head._

 _The Thirtieth Doctor took her by the shoulders. "Can you really do it?" She asked. "She's weak now...I can go all out on her, but you_ need _to be sure. You understand? If your wrong, I die."_

 _"I'm sure," Clara said. "I just need to see..."_

* * *

Clara's eyes snapped open. She was in the Panoptican again!

"Shoot through matter..." Clara said feebly, activating the ice gun. The little screen lit up. She tried to point it at Thomasina, but her vision was blurry and her hand swayed...but on that little screen, she saw Thomasina, painted as a bright red target...

* * *

 _And then she was back. The ice gun was still in her hand!_

 _She fiddled with a few of the touch screen controls...power level...only half left. Targeting colour contrast...irrelevant...lock on!_

 _That was it! She selected it, and looked at the screen. Perfect! Pointing it at a wall, she could see targets_ beyond _that wall! If she locked onto one or some, the jets would pass through the wall and freeze them._

 _But then the whole roof was torn off! Thomasina the dragon leered down at them._

* * *

Clara stumbled to her feet, and pointed the gun shakily at Thomasina...it was heavy, and her grip was weak. With a shaking finger, she selected "lock on" and pointed it at Thomasina...

* * *

 _"Immobilize her!" Clara told the Doctor sternly. "Give it your last!"_

 _The Thirtieth Doctor nodded. With another pop, they were out of the room, just in the nick of time. A huge jet of flame came crashing down into it._

 _They were on a hill, overlooking the castle! No - Clara was. She thought she'd seen Twelve and Ellie out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned around, they weren't there...nor was Thirty...Clara gasped. Thirty was on top of the dragon, riding on it's neck! She was holding a fire hose, and pouring a jet of high powered water into the dragon's mouth!_

* * *

With a shaky finger, Clara pointed the weapon at Thomasina's body...through the clothes and the skin, a spaghetti of organs and bones appeared, highlighted red and orange...and there, in her chest were two roundish muscles. Clara could hear them! _Boom-boom-boom-boom._ _Boom-boom-boom-boom..._ the sound of drums. The beating of a Gallifreyan's two hearts!

The gun started buzzing. Safety buzzed red (for off). Clara tapped the outline of Thomasina's hearts on the screen. Locked. Locked flashed red...and then primed flashed red...

Thomasina let out a huge shriek, which caused Clara to look up in alarm. She was standing stock-still, her eyes darting left and right. She couldn't move! But the Doctor could! She was shaking violently, her bones making hideous noises..."c...come on..." she mumbled to Clara in her deaf, muffled voice..."do it!"

Clara raised the gun...she couldn't! She couldn't aim! The gun was too heavy! Her vision was blurred, and her muscles were weak. She was concussed and injured! She couldn't take the shot accurately!

She was about to say as much when she heard her mother's voice.

 _"Not here Clara! Trust me! Fire from the hill!"_

Clara suddenly had two visions before her eyes - the real world, and overlapping it, the world of the Da'agon Hhai...they superimposed one another.

 _"From the hill, Clara!"_

Clara shut her eyes tightly.

* * *

 _She reopened them. She was back on that hill, overlooking the castle! The Doctor still rode on the dragon's back, pouring water into it's throat. Clara raised the gun towards the dragon...the thing was ready to fire, the dragon's hearts targeted._

"Clara, hurry!" _Ellie's voice exclaimed._

 _Clara gripped the gun with both hands and screwed up her face in concentration...she wasn't injured in this world, and her head and vision were clear...she gripped the gun tightly, so tight it hurt her fingers...she moved one finger down over the trigger...the dragon's hearts were in her sights..._

 _She held her breath...and pulled the trigger._

* * *

She snapped back into the real world with a jolt, just in time to see two clouds of icy energy flying towards Thomasina Wrench. They hit her, making no impact. They travelled through her clothes, through her skin and landed right on target. The Other's hearts froze solid.

Thomasina jumped, a bewildered look on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a strained rasp came out. She looked at Clara. For a moment, their eyes met. Then, Thomasina Wrench stumbled forwards two steps, leaning to the side, grabbing one of the operating tables for support. She gripped the side with shaking hands, the rasping helplessly, her mouth hung open. Then, her eyes rolled backwards into her head, and her grip slackened on the table. She fell to the floor like a ragdoll, and lying on her back. She let out a breath, and didn't inhale another one. Then she lay utterly still on the floor, her eyes rolled back so only the whites showed, her mouth hanging open, her tongue poking out to the side. The Other was dead, killed by the daughter of the very first victim of the harvest all those years ago.

The room was silent. Clara just stood there, staring at Thomasina's corpse, emotionless, the gun hanging limply in her hand. The Doctor gasped in relief, and snapped back to the real world, her face sweaty and her eyes bloodshot. She was free! The Da'agon Hhai was over. She stared over at Clara, breathing deeply. Clara looked into her eyes and, dropping the gun, ran over to her. The Doctor collapsed, exhausted, and Clara skidded down onto the floor, hugging her tightly, hugging her like she'd never hugged anyone before. They were both crying.

Clara jumped a little as someone's hand rested on her shoulder. It was just Lady Me. Smiling and crying at the same time, Clara grabbed her friends arm and pulled her down into the scrum. Then Jack appeared overhead, wrapping his arms around the three of them. Suddenly, they were all there, wrapped together in one tight circle, holding onto each other as if they were afraid to let go. Amy, Rory, Jack, Jamie, Jo, Martha, Mickey and Ian, with Clara, Lady Me and the Doctor in the centre. Mickey dragged Tricky along the floor to the hug as well.

The Other just lay there, on the floor, in total and absolute silence. She wasn't breathing. She'd never breathe again.

The friends were all crying now. They gripped each other tightly, sitting in a scrum in the centre of the abattoir. Nobody spoke a word.

It was a long time before they moved.


	37. Out

"We've got to go," the Doctor said finally, extracting herself from her friends.

She saw Mickey say something to her, but he was too quick for her to lip-read. But she understood what he was trying to tell her easily enough. He was holding Tricky. But Tricky had been shot. Tricky was different now. He was a man. A young man.

The Doctor smiled sadly. "How?" She asked.

She concentrated hard on Mickey's lips, and was able to understand that the soldier had shot her. But the soldier was dead now.

But Rory tapped the Doctor on the arm, to get her attention. He held up his phone, on which was written; _why isn't he awake?_

The Doctor took the phone and wrote; _give it time. He'll be just fine eventually._

She handed it back to Rory without another word. "We have to go," she announced, speaking much too loud. Her voice thundered around the chamber.

Clara nodded. "We do. Come on. Let's get out of here."

Then came the dreaded question, the one she'd been hoping nobody would ask - "How?" It was Amy who'd asked.

Clara shook her head. "We'll find our way..." she said, hoping she sounded convinced.

The Doctor had Mickey and Jack lift Thomasina onto the silver operating table. She pushed Thomasina's eyes shut, and forced her tongue back into her mouth, pushing her chin up to close it. She then placed her hands on her stomach, resting one on top of the other. She looked peaceful, Clara thought. More peaceful than she'd ever been in life.

"We'll leave her here," the Doctor mumbled, "I'll tell the Time Lords what's happened. They'll collect her."

And then, without a backwards glance at Thomasina, the Doctor marched from the abattoir. The crew followed her hastily, not wanting to spend another second in the awful place. Jamie and Rory took Tricky, Rory holding his legs, Jamie gripping him under the arms.

Clara was the last to leave. Unlike the Doctor, she did take one final glance backwards at the room. The Other lay on the operating table, and the machinery had shut down. The Panoptican's owner was dead. It too was dying.

Clara took a deep, shaky breath and turned around. As she did, she heard a deep voice behind her.

 _"Jolly well done, lassie. You did it!"_

She wheeled around. The room was empty. But in the tank of fluid, a face floated faintly across the surface. Omega's face. With a broad, bearded smile, the face dissolved away. Had it been there at all?

* * *

An hour later, they were still walking.

"We're lost!" Jo said sullenly, as the Doctor suggested they turn back for the hundredth time. "Face it!"

The Doctor didn't hear her. The team traipsed back the way they came, and ended up at a junction of four corridors. Clara looked at the four pathways in dismay. She could have sworn it hadn't been here five minutes ago...

The corridors were dark and quiet. No wooden doors appeared any more, and nor did any monsters.

"Let's try this way," the Doctor said, leading them down the left one. Nobody, not even the Doctor, had much optimism that it was the right way.

Jamie was on the verge of tears - he'd been so sure that he'd remembered the way out! But every instruction he'd given had been wrong! He'd been lugging Tricky along with Rory, so maybe hadn't been paying attention. But now he was up front with the Doctor, whilst Jack and Mickey had taken over with Tricky.

And he didn't have the first idea about where to go. _Nothing_ they came across looked familiar.

They'd been given a nasty dose of false hope earlier - they'd somehow managed to stumble upon Thomasina's office, buried deep in the Panoptican. A can of coca-cola sat on the wooden desk, waiting to be drunk by it's owner, who would never come. The Doctor pocketed it. But there had been a _window_ in there! A window leading to outside!

Except it wasn't. It was a hologram window, designed to keep the victims of the harvest calm as they met their end. It wasn't a way out. It was a solid wall.

Lady Me had burst into tears at that point. Now, she and Clara were walking along at the back, Clara's arm wrapped around her.

"We won't get out..." Jo said suddenly.

"Oh don't say that!" Jack said.

"But we won't! There's no way out! Everything's changing!"

This set Lady Me off again. Suddenly, everyone was talking over each other hysterically, telling each other not to panic, whilst they themselves were panicking. Only the Doctor stay silent.

"S'cuse" she mumbled. Everyone ignored her, and continued ranting, coming up with contradicting suggestions of which way to go, ordering one another to calm down...

" _Oi_!" The Doctor bellowed loudly, making everyone jump. Her voice was _so loud_ when she wanted it to be...

The Doctor looked this new corridor. Her hearts sank - ahead was another crossroads, with not four, but eight different directions to take! She shrugged, and pointed at Mickey. "Phone." She said again. He produced it from his pocket, and she took it and began typing.

She finished, and showed it to the group, making sure everyone read it.

 _There's gotta be a way out, but the trouble is I'm not clever enough to work it out. There's only one way out of this._

Clara read it and stared at her. "What?" She asked blankly.

The Doctor smiled sadly. "You need to think like me." She said, taking the phone back to type more. The crowd stared at one another. What could she possibly mean by that? It sounded ominous.

The Doctor finished her reply and showed it to them. It said - _it won't hurt. Let's put things back in order and start with Ian._

Ian Chesterton's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" He asked clearly. "What won't hurt?"

The Doctor just shook her head, and beckoned him over. He came willingly enough. She stood on tiptoe, holding him around the shoulders. Then she pressed her forehead against his.

And Ian saw everything. Every adventure, including his own with that mad old man, all those years ago. Every Doctor. Every friend, every monster. Every laugh, and every tear shed. And there was more - he saw a young boy, crying alone in a barn. Years later, an old man in a leather jacket, sitting in that same barn to make the hardest decision of his life...he saw death, he saw destruction...but he saw love. Joy...the entire history of the Doctor shot through his brain like a flash. It took two seconds.

Then the Doctor removed her forehead from his, and let him go.

Ian stood still. "I..." Ian began helplessly, "I...thanks. I love you, Doctor." Ian's eyes teared up.

The Doctor smiled and nodded. "Jamie." She called.

Jamie stepped forward, and the Doctor repeated the process. Like Ian, Jamie saw everything. He saw an angry old man. He saw a little man with a Beatles haircut. His Doctor. He saw himself and the adventures they had. Then, he saw everything beyond that. It was overwhelming!

The Doctor removed her head from his. Jamie didn't speak to her. He nodded and smiled, tears pouring down his red face.

"Jo." The Doctor called.

Jo came forward at once, and the process was repeated. She saw everything, including her own times with that uppity old fox with the curly grey hair. And everything beyond. The Doctor took her head away. "I love you." Jo said. Her lower lip was trembling.

Then it was Mickey's turn. He laid Tricky down gently on the floor and came over to the Doctor. She pressed her head against his own, and filled his head with...everything. Every Doctor, every time, every moment of sadness and joy...and he too cried.

Jack didn't. He simply pulled away and, not for the first time, kissed the Doctor on the lips. The Doctor was taken aback for sure, but had no particular objection. He was a _very_ handsome man. She'd never looked at him that way before. Clara cleared her throat and he pulled away. "Oh yeah..." he said, smoothing his jacket, and winking at the Doctor. "Thanks Doc - very insightful!"

Then it was Martha's turn. She grinned broadly as her head was filled with the pages of the Doctor's life. And what a _long_ book it would have been! She smiled and nodded. She couldn't speak.

Then came Amy. She didn't try either. Instead, she hugged the Doctor when the process is complete. "I know you can't hear me," she said to the Doctor, who's face was buried in her shoulder, "but I love you." And she pulled away.

Then came Rory. Unlike Amy, he burst into tears, and had to fall into Amy's arms after it was over. Amy patted him on the back. She looked faintly embarrassed, something the Doctor picked up on.

"I'd be proud," the Doctor mumbled, a stern note in her muffled voice, "if he were my husband."

"I am!" Amy said, turning a little red. She was ashamed with herself for feeling that way. Hadn't someone once said it takes a real man to cry? Who said that? Ah, doesn't matter. The point stands.

That left Clara and Lady Me. Clara walked slowly over and allowed the Doctor to press her forehead against her own. She winked at her. "Go ahead."

And she did - Clara saw everything. So many Doctor's, so many adventures...so much beauty.

Like Amy, she pulled the Doctor into a tight hug, making sure her lips weren't visible. "I do love you, Doctor." Clara said emotionlessly. "I always will. I always did, even when I was cross with you sometimes...I never stopped loving you. I hope you know that. I think you do."

She pulled away, and Lady Me silently strolled over. Tears appeared in her eyes as she saw all of the Doctor's life. "Thanks..." she said helplessly.

The Doctor sighed deeply. "I know," she said, smiling.

Clara frowned. "You know what?"

"That you love me." The Doctor said. "Quite right too. And I love all of you."

Her words were muffled and incoherent, but everyone could understand her perfectly. They _knew_ her now. They _knew_ the Doctor. How few people could truly say that?

She took Mickey's phone and again typed out something; _now you all think like me...between us, we can get out. We've just got to think about it._

Everyone looked at each other in disbelief. For a whole, long minute nobody spoke...Clara could feel the difference inside her now...she just felt more sharp. More intelligent. Like...like things made a lot more sense now...she wondered if it would last, or whether it would fade eventually, like many people's memories of travelling with the Doctor faded...

"The entrance is miles away," Rory sniveled suddenly. "I've been workin' it out. Miles."

"Yeah," Jamie said quietly, "but I think...I might know another way out."

"Where?" Everyone said.

"Doctor," Jamie said speaking clearly, "does this place have stairs? More than one level? Does it have a basement? Underground levels?"

The Doctor shrugged and pointed at her ear. Jamie nodded and took Mickey's phone. He held it, looking down at the weird little thing with fascination.

"How do you use this thing?" He said. Mickey sighed, and took it back. He typed Jamie's question out himself and showed it to the Doctor.

The Doctor frowned. "Probably. Why?" She said...then she thought about it a little. " _Oh_!" She exclaimed, a smile appearing on her face.

Jamie laughed. "Yes! it's right below us. If I'm right...and we've been there before, me and you."

"What is?" Ian said at once. Then he too thought about it. " _Oh_!" He repeated, "oh that's clever."

"What is?" Clara demanded.

"Our way out, I hope." Jamie said. "If only we can find some stairs..."

"I can help there," Amy said at once, "I've been thinking about the way we've been travelling...it's all a mishmash...ooh, there's a good word! But there is a pattern. We've been travelling sort of...mainly left. Whereas we should have been going mainly right. So...the most likely place there would be stairs is...the corners? Wouldn't you agree?"

The group looked at each other uncertainly.

"I would!" Jo screamed, making everyone jump. "It's basic, isn't it...massive great building, staircases in the corner. Worth a shot, isn't it."

"For sure!" Martha said. "So...if we've been going left so far, I guess we keep going that way?"

The Doctor, without Tricky's help, was finding it very hard to follow the conversation.

"We think we know," Jamie told her clearly. He pointed down the corridor. "We keep going."

She got the gist of it and nodded. The group set off again. Amy volunteered to help with Tricky now, and grabbed his legs. Captain Jack picked up his torso, and they staggered along with him.

There was a long way to go, and nobody was entirely confident about what they'd find. Apart from Amy. She knew. Basic common sense, isn't it? No? Maybe? All right fine - she hadn't a clue either. She only hoped. She loved feeling so intelligent though...was this how the Doctor felt every day? It was overwhelming, knowing the Doctor so well now...she was so much more than the raggedy man, the madman in the box...she was as ancient as the sky itself. She was _so much more_ than she allowed people to believe.

Ian found that the hardest to comprehend. As they walked, his knees aching relentlessly, he thought back to that old man he'd known. That old man...what he became...it was immense...incomprehensible. Ian felt privileged to have known the Doctor in his youth. Ha! And he'd thought that the Doctor was a man past his time back then. How wrong can somebody be?

Half an hour later, they came across something new.

They reached a sharp corner, with a wrought iron door standing there, alone. There was a mesh-hole in the door. The Doctor bounded over at once and peered into the blackness beyond. Squinting, she thought she could make out a welcome (if somewhat scary) shape - the shape of a long, twisting staircase, leading down into the pitch black. There was, she noticed, a gust of air coming up that staircase from below. Cool, musty-smelling air tickled her face through the hole in the door gently.

"This ish ist." the Doctor said. She hadn't been concentrating, and the words came out wrong. She of course didn't know that. She pulled out her sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the door, which opened with a click.

"Anyone got a torch?" Jo said, peering down into the gloomy depths.

The Doctor was all over it - she pulled a huge great yellow torch from her pocket, and flicked it on. A dazzling white light erupted from the end, throwing the stairwell into plain view. It was a spiral staircase, made of metal like pretty much everything else in the Panoptican. It did go up. But that wasn't the right way. They had to go down...

"How far?" Amy asked the Doctor tensely.

Ian answered. "Not far. If we're gonna end up where I think we will..."

So down they went. It was hard work getting Tricky down. Eventually, they sat him down and just sort of slid him on his backside, keeping hold of his head so that it didn't get bumped too much.

Ian was right. It _wasn't_ far down. Not as far as they'd feared. They ended up in a small, square room with another door. It looked different, this one...the Doctor went through first, and the rest of them filtered in behind her. Clara looked around in astonishment. They were in a huge, long room with a tiled walls, and a curved ceiling. The tiles suggested to Clara that they were no longer in the Panoptican... they'd come out of some sort of secret service entrance to the Panoptican. But to where? Where _was_ this?

"I thought so," Jamie beamed.

Clara blinked. It looked like...no? Surely not?

"It's an underground train station!" Ian exclaimed, laughing.

And so it was. But it was unlike any underground station Clara had ever seen. They were standing on a platform, having come through a door which was sat at the end, by the tunnel. But it was so dark! And old! There were no lights, no passengers, nothing! It stank, an ancient, dusty smell, like something abandoned. From the light that the Doctor's torch offered, Clara could make out the edge of the platform, and the darkness of the tunnel, a gaping round hole into the darkness. From somewhere int he distance, she heard the oh so familiar clatter of a tube train in the distance. It would come through this station. But it wouldn't stop here. No trains stopped at this station anymore. They hadn't done for many, many years.

"Down Street." Ian said, tapping the wall. The Doctor flashed her torch onto it, and sure enough, the words "Down Street" were printed on the wall. "Down Street Tube Station," Ian repeated. "Closed in 1932. Used as a shelter in the Second World War, occasionally open for tours...but no trains. There's places like this all over the tube system. Disused stations, closed to save money usually."

"This is _creepy_ ," Amy exclaimed softly, looking around the derelict old station in awe.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Jack said quietly, "look down there."

The Doctor flashed her torch where he was pointing. Down at the far end of the platform. Dozens of bodies lay rotting over there in a pile. Some of them were still decomposing, but others were skeletal. They'd been there for many years now...they didn't smell, mercifully. Presumably the Other had seen to that, so that her servants could continue coming down here to dump more of them without vomiting.

"Oh my goodness," Jo said, holding her hand to her mouth. "How many?"

"Dunno," Clara said quietly. "She killed a lot of people over the years...these ones are the people she could get away with "vanishing." Anybody who would be missed had to be dumped up top."

Jamie rounded on Ian, "I though' ya said they did tours?"

Ian shrugged.

"They don't notice them." Clara said sadly. "All of the bodies are fitted with a perception filter. We only noticed because of everything we've seen today..."

"Let's go." Martha said. "Come on. Up through the station, and out."

"The entrance is locked, of course." Ian said. "But the Doctor can sort that."

"Och, it might be easier to walk through to the next station," Jamie said, peering into the tunnel. "That'll be open, righ'?" He and the Doctor had done that, many years ago.

"Yes," Ian said, "but the track's electric. And..."

He stopped. They all did. It was suddenly very windy on the platform. A roaring, thundering noise came from the tunnel behind them.

"Ah, yes." The Doctor mumbled. "Guys - get down."

The group staggered to the floor at once, and moved well away from the edge of the platform. Just as Ian finally sank to his front, his face pressed against the dusty stone floor, a tube train came thundering through the tunnel, moving horrifically quickly just a few feet from the crew. It didn't stop. But with a thrill of dismay, the Doctor realized too late that her torch was still on. Had anyone seen them? The driver? The passengers, maybe? Ordinarily, it was too quick and too dark to really make the station out, but with the torch on...

Finally, the long tube train came fully through the old forgotten station, and out the other end. The Doctor got to her feet.

"Let's go." She said simply.

Jamie nodded. His long brown hair was windswept. "Maybe not the tunnel..." he said weakly.

Moving up through the station was a nightmare. The old lifts had been ripped out long ago, the shafts standing bare and empty. They had to take the crumbling, stone staircase up, somehow dragging Tricky along with them. It was harder taking him up a flight of stairs than it had been lowering him down. Much harder. The station was obviously dangerous. At the top of those stairs, the lift doors were open. Take the wrong step, you'd plunge down the empty shaft. There was such poor lighting, and the stairs were so derelict. Finally, Mickey and Jack's limbs aching from pulling Tricky along, and Ian needing the support of Rory and Amy, they came to the top. A long, tiled tube of a corridor greeted them.

"Got to be this way," the Doctor said, setting off down the corridor. They all staggered on down it, trying to avoid the exposed wires dotted here and there (just in case). Up another flight of stairs...and then...

Clara could have wept with joy. There was a locked metal door. But beyond it, the sound of voices...

The Doctor used her screwdriver and pushed it open. Clara rushed out first.

The burst into tears, and sagged to her knees. Above her, the night sky twinkled beautifully, the stars shining down. The cold night air slapped her face. They were on Down Street. Just around the corner from the Panoptican. She wheeled around - everyone was staggering out of the door, most of them crying. She was glad there weren't any police around. They'd be done for trespassing. But she noticed that part of the old station building was now a newsagents. With a CCTV camera. She giggled through her tears. There'd be some interesting footage tomorrow.

Ian was the final person to come through onto the street. He staggered through the door, his old body finally exhausted, Amy and Rory holding his arms. The Doctor shut the door behind them. There was graffiti on it this side, and a blue "keep locked" sign.

They were out. All of them. It was finally, finally over.

* * *

 **Note: Down Street Underground Station is a real place, if anyone was wondering. You can see photos of the old platforms etc online, rather creepy. There's lots of abandoned stations like it.**

 **Three more chapters left. One to wrap up the "Interval" story-line, one to wrap up the main story line, and an epilogue. None of them will be particularly long chapters.**


	38. THE LAST INTERVAL - Retirement

Commander John Taylor went mad.

With every passing day, he'd been getting worse. Everyone knew it was happening. It had been happening for a long time. Attacking, abusing and even killing his own men on a frequent basis. Giving a psychopath like Bart Platter a job, and allowing him to have his wicked way with many of the troops, and nearly the Doctor herself. Yes. It had been a long time coming. A slow, painful degeneration from a good soldier, a good man even, into something hideous.

It was a long and painful process for sure. But when he finally snapped, when he finally reached the point of no return, when he was lost irreversibly, it happened rather quickly. It happened about two weeks after Bart Platter met his end...

* * *

 _ **UNIT Safehouse MX9 (The Cesspit), 2063**_

* * *

The Tardis materialized with a sluggish rasping sound, appearing in the tennis courtyards of the Cesspit. There were soldiers there. Lots of soldiers. Looked like the entire base had evacuated. All aside from the man in charge. And all the officers whom he'd just killed.

"Where is he?" Tricky demanded. "What's happened?"

"I dunno," a familiar soldier said, running over to the two women. He seemed close to tears. "I'm Corporal Unwin. I dunno what happened..."

They knew who had was, of course. That poor, helpless new guy who they'd caught Taylor torturing once upon a time. He'd grown up. He'd been promoted too.

"Calm down," the Thirtieth Doctor mumbled, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Tell."

As he spoke, Tricky translated. "Like I said, I dunno...we were just eating...it was dinner service, the canteen was packed. Then he just burst in! The Commander! Started firing from the hip, looking like a lunatic. Most of us got out, but..."

Jason Unwin started weeping. The Doctor snapped her fingers impatiently at him. "Carry on!" She demanded. She'd been utterly devoid of any kindness since her encounter with Bart Platter. She was always angry now. There was always a deep pit of hurt in her chest. She was angry at him, for what he did. She was angry at herself, for what she did. And she was angry at everyone else for simply being there...

Unwin and Tricky glared at her. But he took a deep breath and continued regardless. "Not just that...he opened the cells! Don't you know what we had in there?"

Tricky nodded. "That's why we came back as soon as you called. Have you really no idea what set him off?"

The soldier shrugged. "Only that the police were here earlier...the military police."

"They're here now." Tricky remarked, nodding across the courtyard. A convoy of armored cars and soldiers stood, dressed in different gear to the UNIT soldiers. "Did they maybe try and get him? Did someone report him?"

Unwin shrugged. "I don't know!" He repeated.

"Right," Tricky grunted, wheeling round to talk to the Doctor. But the Doctor wasn't there. She was already sprinting towards the old reception entrance of the cesspit. "Oi!" Tricky exclaimed uselessly, staring after her. "Get back here!"

But it was too late. The Doctor was in...

No sooner had she walked in, a grating, electronic voice ripped through the old school. Though the Doctor couldn't hear it, she knew it was there. Oh yes...they always knew when someone was close. Usually, anyway...

 _"Lifeform detected!"_ The voice rang throughout the building. The Doctor pulled out her sonic screwdriver. It would vibrate when it was pointing in the Dalek's direction, and she'd know to turn back. Oh yeah, she'd deal with that in due course. But she had to get to Taylor. Whatever she thought of him, she'd had enough of death and destruction now. She'd had enough of it all. She was going to find him, and get him out safely. Then the army police could do with him whatever they wished. But that wasn't her business.

"Taylor!" She called, her deaf voice thundering down the halls. "Give it up! Don't do this anymore!"

If there was a reply (which there wasn't) she didn't hear it. She took off down the hallway to the left, heading for the staircase. She knew where he likely was - the office. She further knew that she'd be safe upstairs. This was an _old_ enemy, creeping about this base. Literally - it was one of the oldest models of Dalek. Silver, with blue spheres. Couldn't fly. It had come here to assess the Earth, to see if it was ripe for invasion. But the Doctor destroyed the teleport, and the main Dalek fleet never heard from the sentry again. Protocol was, in those circumstances, to shelve the invasion plans for a hundred years, or thereabouts. Which means the Dalek invasion of Earth would go ahead in about...ooh, I dunno... say 2163? 2164? Something like that.

And it did. But she needn't worry about that. She'd already halted that invasion. _Such_ a long time ago...

The Doctor crept down the hallway, walking silently in her jester shoes...

* * *

John Taylor cradled his pistol in one hand, his whiskey bottle in the other. He was covered in blood. He brought the bottle to his lips, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He'd shut himself off. As he sat there, in his leather seat in his smart little office, he pretended he was still Commander. John Taylor of the Unified Intelligence Task Force. He pretended he still had men, loyal men who'd do whatever he asked. He pretended that this was a normal day in the life of Commander Taylor. He even had some paperwork sitting on the desk in front of him. He dropped his whiskey, picked up a pen and began working, ignoring the recognizable sound of the Doctor's voice, calling his name. He also ignored the mass of armed soldiers just outside, all of them clamoring for his arrest or execution.

He was working on an acquisition form. UNIT was looking to take on an old steel mill as a new base. He held his pen over the paper, frowning and rubbing his chin. Hmm...estimated date of acquisition...he didn't quite know. He should really call UNIT HQ in Tower Bridge, but they wouldn't speak to him anymore. So, sighing, he scribbled down November of the next year. _Nov 2064_ , he scrawled, popping a question mark next to the 4. He nodded, and finished with the paperwork. He looked forward to the move that he'd never be part of. He rolled backwards on his office chair, and opened the top drawer of his filing cabinet. He placed the paperwork neatly inside, so that the Prime Minister, who'd never read it, could be sent it and give her approval for the move. He couldn't _wait_ to get out of the cesspit.

He shut the drawer of his filing cabinet. The top drawer was the only one he actually used for work. In the second was his ice gun, a fascinating weapon he'd stolen from a UFO crash site a few years back. In the bottom and final one, was his own personal collection of videocasts. He wasn't too bothered about his ice gun being discovered, though inevitably it might get him into a bit of trouble (which he one-hundred percent wasn't in now, thank you very much), but he didn't like the idea of someone finding his videocasts.

He shuddered to think what would happen...well, he knew it - the army police would turn up and arrest him. Like they had done today, when he'd accidentally neglected to lock it. _Stupid_ , _stupid_ , _stupid_! Taylor screwed up his face and hid it in his hands. Then, he took another huge gulp of whiskey, wincing at the burning sensation.

Then he remembered how that hadn't happened today. Today was a normal day! He'd just finished with that bloody acquisition order, after letting his sit in the cabinet for days on end. What now? Might he inspect the armory briefly? Ensure they were running a tight ship down there? Yeah...but then, no. There was a Dalek prowling around somewhere.

It wasn't _quite_ a normal day... John Taylor had to accept that. But not yet...wasn't a man allowed to dream for a little longer?

* * *

"No!" the Doctor moaned, reaching the foot of the stairs. The Dalek was trundling towards her from a wide room filled with lockers. She saw it's lights flash. If it had said " _exterminate_ ", she'd have been able to tell by the way in which it's dome lights flashed. And then of course, she'd be killed. But it didn't say " _exterminate_ " at all. The lights flashed on and off for about four seconds...but what on Earth had it said to her? How could she tell? She had no means of understanding a Dalek!

She thought she might as well try telling it so..."Deaf," she said nervously, pointing to her ears.

The Dalek obviously understood what she meant. They are clever little scumbags, after all. But evidently it didn't care. It spoke again to her. The Doctor shrugged helplessly, panicking now...she was going to die, surely? If she was no use to it?

The Dalek was, in reality, instructing her to take it to a lift. It wanted to kill her, for sure. But it also knew that Taylor was upstairs somewhere. It wanted him too. These Daleks of old, the Doctor knew, were not _quite_ as aggressive as the breeds which came later. Still utterly dangerous, of course. Utterly evil. But just that tiny bit less likely to kill for no reason. It helped, of course, that this one originated from a point in time before the Daleks were aware of the Doctor.

But of course, the Doctor had no idea what it wanted! It was becoming angry now. She saw the dome lights flash a familiar pattern now. She gulped. Exterminate.

She shut her eyes and prepared for the end. She had a good fifty percent chance of regenerating, she thought...well...forty percent...or less?

But there was no pain. Instead, she heard a little " _phut_ " noise, and felt a blast of heat singe her face slightly. She opened her eyes cautiously. The Dalek had been torn apart by some sort of high explosive. It sat there in flames, debris and scraps of metal all over the floor. The rancid, meaty stench of the creature inside filled the room, making her gag. There was thick green goo splattered here and there.

The Doctor turned around. There was Tricky, and the guy from before - Unwin. They'd saved her. Under his rifle was a grenade launcher, still smoking.

The Doctor nodded. "Thanks," she said. "Upstairs."

Before either of them could say anything, she raced up the stairs, two at a time.

* * *

John Taylor cradled his pistol thoughtfully. He recognized that this nice, normal day at work would have to end soon. That ear-splitting explosion downstairs couldn't be good news, could it? What then? Would be go quietly? Well, did he really fancy prison? No - he didn't think so. But he didn't much fancy killing himself either. He'd shot up the canteen earlier, and he'd seen a lot of the men and women writhe in pain before they died, as his bullets cut into them. He reckoned it would hurt. Even a headshot would hurt for a nanosecond...and then he'd be dead! Scary.

He was extraordinary as a fighter. He had no doubts regarding his skills as a marksman, as a soldier. Could he shoot his way to safety? Well, no...probably not. But should he try? Go down fighting, when this nice, normal day at work finally had to be given up on?

Maybe so...Taylor rose to his feet, cocking his pistol. This was the only way - out in a blaze of glory...

But then the Doctor, Tricky and Corporal Unwin rushed in...

* * *

The Doctor skidded into Taylor's office. A hideous sight met her eyes. Taylor was covered in blood. His skin was pale and clammy, his uniform askew. He cradled a huge bottle of whiskey in his left hand, a gun in the right.

Corperal Unwin lifted his rifle at once, pointing it at his commander.

"Stand down, sir," Unwin muttered quietly, "don't be the bad guy anymore...you don't have to be the bad guy. Stand down."

Tricky telepathically sent the Doctor all of the conversation.

Taylor raised his eyebrows. "Hi," he said miserably, "hi Doctor...it's all gone wrong."

The Doctor scoffed and furiously signed something to him.

"She says you're a murderer and a coward," Tricky said, not meeting Taylor's eyes.

Taylor shrugged. "And I think she's probably right...by the way, did you kill Bart? Bart Platter? Did you kill him?"

Tricky transmitted the question to the Doctor, who began signing again.

"Yes, I did," Tricky translated, "sort of. And maybe I was wrong. But I'm not killing you, Taylor. I'm not having it. Not anymore. Your coming with us. Like the Corporal says - you don't have to be bad anymore. If you don't want."

"Your _ill_ , sir," Unwin said sincerely, "they'll take that into account. They will. But you have to come with me."

Taylor shrugged. "What if I say no?"

Unwin didn't hesitate. "Then I have to shoot you. Commander Taylor, I will kill you. But I don't wanna do that, sir. Whatever you've done...I don't wanna kill anyone. Not when it comes down to it...please sir. Will you come? Do the right thing?"

But then Taylor raised his gun. Not towards the Doctor, Tricky or Unwin. He pressed it into the side of his head.

"All your fine words, Doc," Taylor said, breathing heavily, "all your bloody sentiment...tell me this - will you save me? Will you stop me now?"

The Doctor heard the words through Tricky, and looked at Taylor helplessly...

Taylor laughed coldly. "No. No, I thought not. Hypocrite."

The three closed their eyes just as Taylor fired, sending his brains splattering over the wall of the office.

* * *

An hour later, the Doctor and Tricky stood by Taylor's gravestone. They'd travelled ahead. They hadn't attended his funeral (a quiet, private affair owing to the nature of the man being buried). The Doctor was holding the ice gun she'd found in Taylor's cabinet. Unwin had insisted they scour the room quickly for any explosives...nobody would put it past Taylor to rig the room as a final farewell to those responsible for ruining his little world.

They'd checked the cabinet first, moving very cautiously. The top one contained just paperwork. The other two were locked. The Doctor used her sonic screwdriver to open the second one, where she'd found the ice gun. She took it without quite knowing why...as if she knew it might come in useful someday.

In the third drawer, they'd found the videocasts. The Doctor took one look, and then left them where they lay. "No better than Platter," she said coldly, sweeping from the office, and from the cesspit, for the final time, giving the dead Dalek a good kick as she passed.

Now she and Tricky looked down at the slab of stone. Taylor's full name, date of birth and date of death were engraved on it. The cemetery was full of such stones. Taylor's sat at the far end. He had a line of seven graves to his left, but only one to his right - that belonged to a UNIT officer who had died in combat shortly after that day at the cesspit. More would come soon enough.

They always did. Everyone died, and the Doctor was sick of it! She'd killed Bart Platter! She allowed his death, so she killed him. The Doctor saved people! Why hadn't she? Why hadn't she just held her temper and seen to it that Platter was arrested? Why?

He was probably one of the most disgusting humans she'd met. It wasn't his fetishes which made her say that - to each their own, providing you don't harm anyone else. It was the way he so callously thought himself allowed to do whatever he pleased, to whomever he pleased. Well she'd shown him! But she wasn't meant to show him! That wasn't who the Doctor should be! And it hadn't made a jot of difference! All the joy was gone. And now, here lay Taylor. Poor, mad Taylor, who asked her to save him, like the Doctor does...only she couldn't. She couldn't be the Doctor anymore...what's more, the Tardis was old. So, so old. She needed a rest halfway through journey's most of the time. They had to literally encourage her to carry on! The old girl was tired of the universe, and she wasn't the only one.

Maybe it was time..

The Doctor sighed deeply, and placed an arm around Tricky.

 _I'm done, Tricks._ She transmitted, her eyes burning with tears.

 _I know_ _._ Tricky replied sadly. _You've been done for a long time now, haven't you? Kept going for my sake._

The Doctor nodded. _You'll stay with me though?_

Tricky kissed her on the cheek. _Always_.

The two women hugged each other tightly.

Their next stop was New Arcadia. And there they stayed, until one day a desperate, pleading voice began to fill the Doctor's head from far away;

 _Will you come? Will you come? Please, Doctor! Will you come?_


	39. Home Again, Home Again

Saying goodbye hadn't been too hard, Clara thought. Not for her, anyway. Maybe for the others. It was easier for her because she knew she could, if ever she so wished, visit any or all of them in her Tardis. Not that she thought she ever would. But knowing that the option was there made it feel easier.

Jo Jones, Mickey and Martha didn't accept a ride home from her. They all went back to Clara's Tardis that night, but just two hours after escaping the Panoptican via Down Street Station, the Smiths decided to go home.

"We've got to," Martha said simply, "they're depending on me at work. I need to get back. I've got people to look after. Responsibility."

There were tears as they said goodbye to the Doctor. Of course there were. But none of them the Doctor's. She didn't show any sadness as her old friends departed one by one. She shook hands, or hugged, or kissed on the cheek (or lips, in Jack's case) as required. But she didn't seem sad. More like proud. Proud of them all, and the lives they'd built for themselves.

Jo said her farewells shortly afterwards - she was going back to her hotel for a rest, then onto Heathrow early tomorrow. She was going back to Brazil. There was still work for her to do over there. She hugged Clara tightly, and then moved onto the Doctor.

"Will I see you again?" She asked directly, her eyes glistening with tears.

The Doctor shrugged. "If I'm lucky," she mumbled, winking. She'd said that to somebody before, she knew...goodness knows who. She couldn't keep track of these things at her age.

Then Jo was gone. Ian Chesterton was of this time too, but he had a bit of a favour to ask.

"So I just walked out," he told Clara sheepishly, "the retirement home didn't give me permission to come, so I just walked out...I'll be in a spot of trouble if I go waltzing back in so..."

Clara grinned, "how does five minutes after you left sound?"

Ian chuckled. "Sounds rather fine to me."

So Clara took him back to Cambridgeshire, to his retirement home. Saying goodbye to the Doctor was hard for him, perhaps harder than anyone else.

"I won't see you again, of course." He said to her sadly. Clara's Tardis was in his room at the home. "I'm the old man now, and you are young...and so beautiful."

The Doctor didn't catch all of it, but got the gist. She nodded. "I'll never forget you," she murmured, "one of the first."

Ian smiled sadly, dabbing his watery eyes. He nodded at Clara, Lady Me and the final two passengers. "Been a pleasure." Then he walked out of Clara's Tardis, and was gone.

He watched it vanish (having disguised itself as a wardrobe for his room), savoring that wonderful, metallic groaning noise for what he guessed was the final time. He looked around the large, airy bedroom - it was just as he'd left it.

Except the bedside phone was ringing. Probably Agnes, checking up on him.

"Hello?" He answered

"Hey Ian," Sheila McCanna said down the line, "me and the staff have been discussing whether or not to let you go to London."

"Oh..." Ian said, smirking, "and?"

"Well...your a self-sufficient and able chap still. I'm not too happy about it, but at the end of the day, none of them felt that you need our permission. So I've changed my mind. If you really want to go, young man, then that's fine."

Ian Chesterton started to laugh. It was a long time before he stopped.

Jamie was the next drop off. They put him down in the Highlands of Scotland, less than a minute after they'd picked him up. He shook the Doctor's hand firmly. "Tell me though," he said, "will I be as clever as you always now?"

The Doctor shrugged, "I can't understand," she said blankly. And with no paper to hand, Jamie had to repeat himself a few times before she interpreted the full question. He did so patiently, and without complaint. When she got the whole thing, she shook her head.

"Will fade," she said, "you'll remember me though...this time."

And so they would - all of them. There wouldn't be any semi-forgetting this time. Oh, the memories of the Other would quickly fade to nothing, as always. Even the Doctor would forget her before long. The memory of this battle, Clara knew with mixed emotion, would fade for all of them. But the memory of meeting the Doctor again wouldn't. They'd all remember their adventures from before now, and they'd all remember meeting the Thirtieth Doctor. She was inside all of their minds, after all. They'd just never know why they all met her again, or what they did on that day. Maybe that was for the best.

Indeed, the forgetting had already started - because as Jamie finally took his leave, he said, "I had a wonderful time."

Clara nodded and smiled encouragingly. Then Jamie was gone, back out into the windswept, wild hills of Scotland.

Next, Jack. Back to the Zagit Zagoo Bar. Naturally, he wanted to kiss Clara goodbye. She allowed him to, pretending to be reluctant about it. Not a word of it! He was a gorgeous man. He bounded off back into the bar.

Finally, Amy and Rory. Rory quietly kissed the Doctor and Clara and bustled off back into their home. Amy stayed just long enough to ruffle the Doctor's orange hair.

"There!" She exclaimed, admiring her handiwork - the Doctor looked scruffy with her hair like that. Windswept. Or even, some might say, a little bit raggedy. She cried as she hugged the Doctor for the final time. It was as hard for both of them, that goodbye. The Doctor had known her since she was a child, after all...

Then she followed her husband out through the large white doors of Clara's Tardis.

They were all back, Clara thought to herself, relief washing over her. All of them, back where they belonged. Alive and well.

* * *

 ** _Two Days Later_**

* * *

Clara dialed the number she'd gotten off the Doctor - she wanted to tell Kate Stewart the news in person.

"Hullo?" Grunted a bored male voice down the line. "Kate Stewart's office, Private Moffat speaking. Help you at all?"

"Ye-ee-es," Clara said uncertainly, "I need to speak to Kate. Can you put me through?"

"Who's callin' please?" Moffat grunted.

"Tell her it's Clara Oswald," Clara replied impatiently.

"Righ'. Bear with us."

Half a minute later, Clara heard the crackle of the phone being picked up again. "Hello?" Came a familiar woman's voice. Kate Stewart's. "Who is this? I've just been told that Clara Oswald wanted to speak to me, but I happen to know that she's long dead."

"Yeah, I am," Clara said brightly, "I died a long time ago. But I'm talking to you anyway. Look, Kate...I just wanted to tell you in person - the Mayfair crisis is over now. You don't need to worry about it any more."

Silence down the line.

"Kate?" Clara said. "Kate, you still there?"

"What do you mean it's over? It's top secret...how can you know about it anyway, whoever you are?"

"I'm Clara," Clara repeated gently, "and I promise you, it's been sorted. The Other is dead, Kate. You know who the Other is don't you?"

"I do," Kate said darkly, "my old dad told me about him once, when I was very little...but never again. I think he _forgot_ about him."

"He did," Clara agreed, "and you will too. The Other's final defeat - nobody remembers her. Omega's doing, no doubt."

More silence.

"Kate, I know you have no reason to trust me," Clara laughed, "but you will soon, because nothing more will happen in Mayfair. I promise you."

Finally, Kate spoke. "I hope so," she said, "cos between you and me, we'd gotten precisely nowhere. Nowhere at all."

"Bye, Kate." Clara said warmly.

"Oh right. Bye...Clara," Kate finished finally. She knew in her heart it was Clara, though she wouldn't ever understand how that was possible.

All she knew is that the trouble in Mayfair stopped, just like she said it would. And this time, it never started again.

Clara put the phone down. She was sitting in her console room with Lady Me. They were waiting for a video call on the scanner. A video call from a very special person, who wanted to say goodbye...

Clara just hoped that she had good news about Tricky. Tricky didn't wake up on the way back to Clara's Tardis after they escaped. They left him in the Doctor's Tardis as they dropped off all the old companions. When they got back, he still wasn't awake...and the Doctor hadn't been able to telepathically wake him either. Clara hoped beyond all hope that there would be better news now...

Right on cue, the scanner switched on. The Doctor's face appeared. She was in her own Tardis, up in orbit. She'd had to move closer to the sun to keep the engines from freezing solid. That's not decrepit the poor old Tardis was now.

Beautifully, there was a subtitles feature on the Tardis scanner. Whatever Clara said would come up at the bottom of the Doctor's screen. Likewise, whatever the Doctor signed, Clara's Tardis would translate.

"Hi," Clara said, instantly feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes.

The Doctor nodded, and signed something. _How are you?_

Clara smiled. "Not so bad...we did good. Saved a lot of lives, didn't we?"

The Doctor nodded. _We certainly did. I don't think she'd ever have stopped. I'm not sure she could._

"No," Clara agreed. There was no sign of Tricky on the screen. "How's your friend?"

The Doctor's face darkened as she replied. _The regeneration's gone badly wrong. There's no sign of brain damage. But he just won't wake up. He's comatose._

"I'm so sorry," Clara said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Can you help him?

The Doctor nodded. _I think I've got an idea. But it's pretty stupid. Not sure it'll work._

"You'll let me know, won't you?" Clara said, feeling Lady Me grip her hand tightly. "You'll tell us if it works?"

The Doctor thought for a moment, and then nodded. _Yes. I think I could do that._

Clara nodded. She didn't speak for a moment, and the Doctor didn't sign. Lady Me stood next to Clara quietly.

"So," Clara said finally, "I guess...well, I suppose it's..."

 _Goodbye? I guess it is. I'll let you know about Tricky, of course. And maybe we'll meet again someday. I'd like to think so._

"Same," Clara said hoarsely, a lump in her throat. "I love you."

The Doctor nodded. _Quite right too._ Again, she'd said that to somebody before...anyone's guess who.

"I know you hate goodbyes," Clara said to her with a tearful smile, "so let's leave it there. I'm gonna switch the scanner off, Doctor. Because I just know I'm gonna see you again...am I right?"

The Doctor nodded again. _Of course you are,_ she said. _Very soon._

And Clara was as good as her word. She cut the connection. As she did, she wondered if she'd ever see that wonderful, silly, fantastic Doctor of her's again.

She'd live in hope. Which isn't something many dead people can say.

* * *

The Doctor watched the screen to blank, wondering if she'd ever see Clara again. She turned away from the console, to face Tricky. The Doctor had hauled a sofa into the console room, and had laid Tricky on it. He was as pale and still as a corpse, though his hearts were beating, and his brain was silently ticking over. This was a rare but serious complication of regeneration. More rare and more serious than regenerating with no hearing.

But the Doctor might be able to fix that...Clara had asked her if she had any ideas about how to wake Tricky up. And she did.

She turned again and gazed at the console, which seemed to be staring back at her. Waiting for her. A broad, terrified smile spread across the Doctor's face Oh yes. She did have an idea about how to bring Tricky back.

Just one...


	40. Epilogue: Number Thirty Flies Again II

**_Inside The Tardis_**

* * *

The Doctor would start straight away - if she stopped to think about this, she might end up doing the sensible thing and decide not to do it...and where would that leave poor Tricky? Comatose for ever? That wouldn't do.

The Doctor flicked the "shield" switch, setting them to maximum. There was a whirring sound all around her as the shields were engaged at maximum power. A flurry of sparks jettisoned from the console as that happened, but the Doctor ignored them. No time to stop and think. No time at all.

She walked around the console and worked on the gears. She stole a quick glance at Tricky, who lay as peaceful and silent as ever. The Doctor grinned. "Not for long," she mumbled, finishing with the gears.

The inside of the Tardis began to glow a bright white. The central column lit up with a delicate humming noise. The Tardis felt a little different now...it usually felt sluggish and awkward, the power increasing and reducing unpredictably...not the case today - it was building up consistently, going from that low hum, to a buzzing whir as it became sufficiently powered for flight. The Doctor didn't hear the noises, but she felt the engines vibrating beneath the floor. There was power building up in this knackered old ship, the likes of which it hadn't produced for many a long century. Maybe it, being a living being, understood how very important it was today that it perform well...or perhaps, as the Doctor believed, it had sensed the change in it's owner and oldest friend? Because the Thirtieth Doctor _had_ changed. Not a regeneration. Simply a new outlook, a better one. But one she hoped would make all the difference in the universe.

That's what meeting all those wonderful people again had done for her.

The Doctor ran over to the fault locator, and saw no faults registered at all. She didn't know whether to smile or whimper about that - it meant that there was no reason not to take off...

She walked slowly back to the console. She stood a moment next to Tricky, stroking his face gently. He wasn't too handsome, she thought. The first Tricky had been a pretty young woman, but this new incarnation wasn't so fortunate. He was slightly ratty, in fact. Small, skinny, with a little face, and two little eyes. Hmm...shame. But looks weren't important. That, the Doctor knew better than anyone in the universe. Sometimes, the ugliest of monsters were good at heart. Sometimes it was the good-looking aliens that were ruthless. A little like her.

She sighed. Enough.

She moved towards the main lever of the console, her hearts hammering...this _would_ work! It would bring Tricky back.

Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes, the Doctor yanked the lever.

The engines kicked in at once. The central column rose and fell, and that ancient, metallic noise filled the room, unheard by the Doctor...she set off through the time vortex at a gentle pace. On the sofa, she thought she might have seen Tricky move a fraction of an inch.

Holding her breath and biting her lower lip, the Doctor increased speed a little...the Tardis began to moan a little, but it didn't stop. It didn't slow down. It felt more chipper and powerful than it had in a long time.

Like it's owner.

Faster...faster...faster! The Doctor flicked on the scanner switch and saw the time vortex rushing past. What speed were they at? In terms humans would understand, perhaps a thousand miles an hour?

She looked again at Tricky. One of his hands was twitching.

The Doctor laughed. Not fast enough! She increased speed again...two-thousand miles per hour! Three thousand! Four! Five! The Cloister Bell thundered through the Tardis, and smoke rose from the console. The Doctor crossed her fingers and increased speed some more.

"Come on, old girl!" She exclaimed, "On! On! On!"

The Tardis did just that - faster, faster and faster still! Tricky's new eyes flickered open briefly, and he raised a hand to his face.

There was a small fire on the other side of the console now. The Doctor pulled a cloth from her pocket and suffocated it. "You can do it!" She shouted, her bones rattling as the Tardis shook and rattled as it zoomed faster still down the time vortex. _"On, on on!"_

 _Faster!_ Twenty-thousand miles per hour! Forty-thousand! More? More! The Doctor opened the engines to full throttle. The Tardis screamed in protest, but it complied nonetheless.

The years were trickling up at lightening speed...fortieth century...fiftieth...sixtieth...how far could she go? How long would it take? Not long at this speed! One hundred thousand miles per hour! And gaining still!

Adrenaline pumped through the Doctor's bloodstream, and she laughed hysterically. The whole ship could fall apart any moment!

Tricky's eyes were fully open. And full of sheer terror. What was happening? She'd been in the Panoptican...but then what? And why did she feel so very different?

 _Doctor, your gonna kill us both!_ Tricky transmitted, standing up and staggering to the console, which he clung onto for dear life. He noticed how very hairy his bare arms now were...

 _You think?_ The Doctor sent back, pumping more power down into the engines. She was still laughing.

 _I know it!_ Tricky replied.

 _Want me to stop, then?_

Tricky started laughing to. _Definetley not!_

"Come on old girl!" Tricky bellowed, his deep voice shocking him. "On! Hurry, hurry, hurry! Come on! Show us what ya made of!" He slapped the console as if it were a horse on which he rode.

"On! You can do it!" The Doctor screamed hysterically, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. She checked the console. _Four hundred thousand miles an hour!_ The year 200,000 flashed past...300,000...400,000...

Then, with an almighty _crunch_ that only Tricky heard, the Tardis finally called it a day. It stopped with a whiplash inducing jolt, putting down in some random area of space, the nearest safe place to stop that it found...the force of the brakes threw the Doctor and Tricky to the floor. They lay there together, laughing like a pair of lunatics, every bone in their body throbbing like crazy. Acrid smoke filled the console room.

Tricky was first to rise, his new body healing quickly. He pulled the Doctor to her feet. Aside from the odd bruise, she was fine. The pain was subsiding already. They collapsed into each other's arms, laughing until they could hardly breathe.

Finally, Tricky calmed down. _Is it over then?_ He asked. _Is the Other dead?_

The Doctor nodded. _I've messaged the Time Lords. They'll collect her and destroy the Panoptican._

Tricky smiled a sad smile. _She got me, then? I'm somebody else now._

The Doctor looked Tricky up and down. Maybe she'd been wrong earlier...get this ratty young man out of those silly, too-small dungarees and into a smart suit or some such, he'd look dashing in a strange sort of way...maybe he could wear black too? _I've seen worse._ The Doctor transmitted finally, grinning her crooked grin.

Tricky smiled. The Doctor, suddenly remembering her promise, took a second to send a message to Clara's Tardis - "he's up". That's what she sent. In reply, she got a "YAY" and a smiley face emoji on the scanner. _Letting them know your fine,_ she told Tricky.

Tricky nodded, and stared at the Doctor in silence for a moment _._ _Are you back out of retirement, Doctor?_ He asked eventually.

The Doctor also took a moment to reply. Finally, she grinned and replied verbally. "Yes."

Tricky grinned too. _For ever?_

The Doctor nodded. _For ever._

And right now, there was a huge jungle planet outside the Tardis. That's what the Doctor saw on the scanner. She had no idea what part of the universe this was. Nor what that planet was called. She didn't know whether or not it was lived on. She had no idea of it's history. No idea if it was safe. And no idea where she was going after they'd finished exploring that jungle planet...

Oh, she'd missed this!

And she was as good as her word - her and Tricky went _everywhere_. Sure, trouble cropped up on a regular basis. It wouldn't be much fun if it didn't right? But they muddled through. They had the time of their lives. Because although evil existed, there was one thing that the Doctor finally understood about life - there is more good than bad in this weird and wonderful universe in which she wandered. Most people are just _kind_ , if you give them a chance.

This is what the Doctor thinks, on those very rare occasions where she pauses for a rest, and finds herself looking back on her adventures in space and time, and the friends with whom she shared them.

* * *

 **Note: Thank you very much for reading folks. If anyone's got anything to say about the story as a whole, positive or critical, your feedback would be very welcome. :) Thanks again!**


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